


Julia Roberts and that one deranged lunatic

by felinesandbeanies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: -Ish, Angst, Anxiety, Case Fic, Depression, Disassociation, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Healing, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Sort of? - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, loose plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinesandbeanies/pseuds/felinesandbeanies
Summary: “What if we dated?” Harry said, off topic.Draco hummed. “We’re going to be plastered all over The Prophet and there it states that we’re starting a campaign about how love trumps hate. We are brave kindered souls who found love in forgiveness, our bodies are flames to which—-”“Stop.”ORThe one wherein they already live a domestic lifestyle while also simultaneously juggling labels, mental illnesses, a coffee shop, a deranged lunatic, and Draco's weird fascination with Julia Roberts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd give this fandom a shot even if I'm starting I'm only starting out.

It just is. 

Harry washes the dishes. Draco stood beside him, drying and putting it away because god forbid Harry fucks up Draco’s very specific placement of dishes and cutlery. The flat was quiet enough for them to hear the push and pull of the sea just across where they lived. 

“Grace was looking for you today,” Harry said, handing Draco a saucer. 

Draco hummed. “Nice lady. She threatens our stocks of pumpkin scones and earl grey tea but she is quite nice.” 

“You like it,” Harry snorted. “You’re not particularly subtle about your pride in your knack for making pumpkin scones and, in general, tea.” 

“The talent oozes out,” he shrugged. 

“How was your first day?” Draco had just accepted a part time job at Hogwarts as a professor for Potions class. It was his way of saying that he was slowly going back to his wizardry life after two years of solace in muggle Brighton with Harry Potter, of all people. 

“It was dreadful,” Draco simply said. “They all remind me of Longbottom during our early years.” 

“I take it you enjoyed, then?” Harry smiled. 

“They will probably take years off of my life span,” Draco trailed off, tapping his chin in mock contemplation. “But I do enjoy.”

“Make it sound as dreadful as you want, Draco, but you’ve been practicing your penmanship for quite some time now.” 

Draco tried to hide a smile by sneering. “You cease to amaze me with your observations of our daily life, Potter.” 

“I _am_ a special kind of Auror.” 

“Yes,” Draco said, waving his hand dismissively. “Only called to duty if time arises like a...like a...”

“Free lance worker?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re just glad someone can look after the coffee shop whilst you're gone.”

“Perhaps not as glad since you managed to break one of our good plates,” Draco said, a glare. 

“Unclench, will you?” Harry sighed. “You act as if magic can’t fix it.” 

“ _Unclench_ ,” Draco repeated as if the word was distasteful. 

“Will you be with me?” Harry asked.

Draco reddened but Harry took no notice as they both dried their hands and plopped down on their sofa. “Sure.” 

“Good,” Harry said, reaching the remote. “The coffee shop was hell without you.” 

“Your organizational skills are truly another level of shit, Harry,” Draco said. “Would you care to put on a good show?” 

“As you may know, televisions are not bent to our will,” Harry said. 

Draco harrumphed. “My father will hear about this.”

“Ah, Lucius Malfoy versus a television,” Harry said. “Who will win?” 

“Julia Roberts.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” Draco sandwiched his toes in between the couch and Harry’s thigh as he sinks into the corner of the sofa with a book cracked open right in front of him. “You’re already wearing socks. Come on, your feet are cold.” 

“You’re a furnace,” was all Draco said so Harry accepts it because what the hell can he do? 

Harry briefly remembers how Draco flinched every time anyone, even Harry, touched him or even brushed up against him. He had been suffering severe anxiety and PTSD at the time and it was even more surprising how they came to even live together in muggle Brighton. They needed an escape from the overwhelming attention because it did not help Harry’s depersonalization, anxiety, and depression and it absolutely did not help Draco’s anxiety, PTSD, and self-harm tendencies. 

They moved in together when they realized that they were both on extreme ends of the spectrum of attention, finding a place of their own near the ocean because it was quiet and both of them had sleeping problems. For a while, it was just them, but Hermione convinced them to open up to others because the two of them would be toxic when sharing each other’s thoughts. 

Hermione found a psychiatrist and a psychologist who was specialized in war times and anger management. They usually come to Harry and Draco’s flat but they slowly urged both Harry and Draco to step out even though it’s just for a check up. Harry was the first and the easiest to coax while Draco almost remained irreconcilable, it didn’t help that his defense mechanism were angry outbursts and threats of self-harm. Harry had to hide every sharp object. 

For the first few months, they remained at home or they went to their appointment. Harry did not feel like eating in most times but Draco starved himself when he couldn’t get a blade so Harry had to collect every bit of strength in him to force himself and Draco to eat. He’d done research on Draco’s favorite food, Narcissa helped a lot on this. 

He first introduced fish soup to which Draco eyed for a long time but Harry could see the little light in his dusty eyes and the way he licked his lips hungrily. Draco finished the soup and Harry kept wanting to get better and better. He made tarts, pies, chocolate croissants, lasagna, fish soup, pumpkin soup, fry ups, sushi, curry, ramen, and a lot more. He thought the harder, the better. He liked serving them and seeing Draco try them and then that little burst of a smile that comes afterwards. 

He was distracted by food and so was Draco, who always helped in the kitchen or, if he couldn’t be bothered, read a book or studied the different kinds of muggle electronics. Harry had slowly introduced the muggle life to Draco who, all the while, suspected that they were metallic death traps until he finally understood how to work with them. He claimed that it was just another different form of magic. 

Draco had discovered the wonders of Julia Roberts and her films, claiming that she was the greatest thing ever. Harry had nodded dumbly and simply watched “Dying Young” in silence. He really shouldn’t have brought ‘The Runaway Bride’ home but, oh well. It’s too late for that now, isn’t it? Besides, Draco looked happy whenever he watched her films.

They got better together. 

They got better enough so that they could go out and meet Ron and Hermione or Blaise and Pansy in quiet restaurants. Ron and Pansy were the first two to suggest that they could open up a little coffee shop slash bakery if they wanted since cooking and baking seemed to be a suitable distraction for the both of them. 

They agreed. They called it The Mark; a spin-off on the dark mark Draco had because Draco wanted to make fun of it so that he may finally be accustomed to the fact that the dark mark will never go away. 

For two years, they avoided the ‘magical world’ as much as they could. Now, Harry is almost always surprised whenever Draco wore his robes. They have just recently started slowly coming back to the magical side of things with Draco being a professor and Harry going back to being an Auror but only when he is rightfully needed. They still run the coffee shop together and they will not move out of muggle Brighton, not for a long time. 

“You’re quiet,” Draco said.

“Should I not be?” Harry asked. “Do you want me to talk to you while you’re reading?” 

“I will hex you,” the blond said, flipping a page. 

“What if we dated?” Harry said, off topic. 

Draco hummed. “We’re going to be plastered all over The Prophet and there it states that we’re starting a campaign about how love trumps hate. We are brave kindered souls who found love in forgiveness, our bodies are flames to which—-”

“ _Stop._ ” 

“You asked.” 

“In hopes of a proper reply.” 

Draco stared. “We’ll see.” 

And it seemed like all a big joke but both of them knew it was a long time coming and serious discussion. Harry _will_ wait. Draco _will_ think about it. They had been tiptoeing around the whole concept of romance but never really quite getting to it because Draco believed he was too fucked up to feel the right things and Harry believe that he was a liability to everyone. It was never the right time, they were working on themselves before they could even think to give a part of themselves to someone else. 

The response ‘we’ll see’ is not so much a ‘no’, it wasn’t a rejection. It was ‘let’s see where everything goes and how it falls into place’ because Harry and Draco had had enough of knowing what their future would hold, had had enough control of their path, This time they would do it right. They would do it how nature proves it to be so. 

They are old enough to decide these things. They are too old for hints and school boy plays. If they felt something for the other, whatever it was, be it anger or jealousy, they made sure that they knew. Romantic feelings are no different, it will never be different. It had only felt predictable that this was the outcome. It was only predictable that _this_ was _their_ outcome. Slow. Sure. Steady. Because what else would two mentally unstable men need? 

“You think we should introduce new items for Autumn?” Harry asked, staring at the ceiling because it had always helped with his creative thinking and focus. 

Draco tapped the edge of his book with his index finger. “Any ideas?” 

“Orange leaves,” Harry said, spreading his hands as if he was forming an invisible rainbow. “ _Everywhere_.” 

“Maybe,” Draco drawled. “I’ll doodle on our cups, coordinate the plates and cutlery, make the place look pretty, and even change our uniforms while you put leaf prints on the scones and coffee foam.” 

“Settled,” Harry nodded. “Oh! Let’s bake leaf shaped sugar cookies?” 

Draco was about to say something sarcastic but Harry looked really, dare he say, adorable and excited so he simply sighs and give him an amused smile. “That sounds great, Harry.” 

“I’ll see if our supplier can...well...supply,” Harry said, grabbing his phone. 

“Grace would absolutely love it,” Draco snorted. “Old ladies love color coordination.” 

“And so do you and everyone else shut up,” Harry sniffed. “I like color coordination.” 

“Hey, listen,” Draco said, closing his book and sitting tall. It made Harry sit tall as well, eyebrows knitted together in concern. 

“What’s up?” 

“I’m planning on getting a tattoo,” the Slytherin said, tapping his fingers on his knees tentatively. 

Harry released a sigh of relief. “What of?” He leaned back once again. 

Draco hummed for a moment. “It’s a secret but it’ll be placed here on my front bicep.” 

“Whatever it is, it’s a good idea,” Harry said, then shivered. “ _Unless it’s something lewd and really obviously stupid._ ” 

“I’m not you,” Draco snorted.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Git.”

* * *

Draco ran a hand through his hair, letting the water run down from the top of his head to his back to his feet. He listened to the drops of water as it echoed between the confines of the bathroom. He usually hated prolonged silence because it seemed as if a loud booming sound will come out of nowhere just to trigger him. But he knew he was safe right now. 

Harry was down at The Mark checking stock and if everything was in tip top shape before they opened. He always lets Draco take the last shower which was kind and Draco appreciated him for it. 

He briefly thought of the owl his mother sent to him a few days ago, saying that the manor itself missed him and that he should, perhaps, come for a visit. This came because Narcissa picked up on news of Draco’s part-time job as a professor and maybe she thought Draco was finally okay with going to the manor. Draco doesn’t feel right about it, he knows that the face of his father was enough to unsettle him what more if he stepped foot back into that hell hole once again? 

He saw quick visions of the manor in his head, blood wasn’t an unusual sight. There were nights filled with hissings and dark whispers he tried to ignore but ultimately couldn’t. He heard Bellatrix’s laugh, followed by screams; her laugh was always followed by screaming. Draco would still sometimes hear it at night, sometimes not even headphones could help him.

Draco punched the wall. _Whatever._

He quickly turned of the tap and dried himself, keeping his hair tousled and wavy because _damn all_ nothing even mattered at this point. He grabbed the comfiest thing he had which was his Weasley made sweater and jeans. 

When he was down at The Mark, Harry was putting change in the cashier. The brunet sensed him, looked up and gave him a warm smile. The itchy unsettling feeling is at bay. “Good morning, Draco.” 

“Morning,” he hums coolly, as if he wasn’t on the edge of an outburst. He goes to the back to proceed baking the pastries, using minimal magic in assistance. He’s found out that the less magic, the better it tastes. There are times that Harry baked for the two of them and he’d always have his magic seep through the batter but Draco didn’t mind it if it was Harry’s magic. It tasted sweet.

“You’re not okay,” Harry says, leaning by the door. There was a pause. “Your knuckles.” 

“I’ve had a moment wherein I wanted to simply drown myself in the shower,” Draco says, calm. “But I’m fine right now.” 

“Over 10?” 

“It’s a six.” 

“A six,” Harry repeats, obviously worried. “Do you want to go out on a walk later once this is all finished?” 

Draco breathed, suddenly realizing how particularly tight it felt despite the space. “Yes.” 

“Great,” Harry said, going back to the front counter. 

It sometimes makes him wonder how good Harry was at reading him but then again they did go through all the therapy together and they got better together so it wasn’t really unusual for them to be tuned to the other so perfectly that they might as well create a magical bond that ties them together.

“How’d you even know?” Draco asked once he sat beside Harry on the counter. 

Harry chuckled. “You never wear the sweater.” 

“And here I thought we had a connection,” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“I suppose there’s that as well.” Mornings are slow so Draco cracks a book open, losing himself in it and only half listening when there are the usual morning workers who came for their coffee fix, eye bags seeming to disappear on the first sip. He only looks up slightly when he hears someone say _’please tell your husband that his tattoo is remarkable’_ and Harry agrees and thanks the customer for stopping by. 

“Husband?” He drawled.

“Yes, honey?” 

“Oh, honestly,” Draco said, nose scrunching up. “How distasteful.” 

Harry broke out into a fit of giggles. “Sorry, It’s funny.” 

“I’m sure it is, Potter.” Draco tapped the table slightly. What were they? They were best friends slowly crossing the already blurred line. He pushes the urge to deny because there’s nothing to deny, everything was laid out in front of him. “Draco would suffice. I don’t really fancy having a pet name.” 

He seemed surprised that Draco was acknowledging it. “And if I called you amor?” 

Draco blushed but sneered. “ _Draco_ is perfectly fine.” 

“It’s not,” Harry smirked. “I’m going to keep calling you pet names, honey.” 

“ _Salazar’s tits_ ,” Draco hissed. “This pains me.” 

Harry leans so that his cheek presses Draco’s shoulder, leaning back after a few seconds. “You like it, _sugar_.” 

Draco sighed. “Whatever, Potter. You do what you want.”

Draco thinks that _that_ was it, right? That was the most his heart could beat for someone as stupid as this man. Surely, it was. This was the maximum rate his heart could possibly go without inducing himself a fucking panic attack. It doesn’t matter, _it doesn’t matter_. He just can’t believe that this idiot was fit. 

“As you wish, love.” 

“Harry,” Draco said. “Not in in front of Hermione and Ronald, okay?” 

“Oh,” Harry frowned and Draco thought that that was a weird reaction. “Just between us.” 

Draco snorted. “Potter, you can scream about this budding romance if you wish but don’t use the pet names in front of our friends.”

Harry perked up. God. Draco knew him so well. “Oh! Okay.” 

“Idiot,” Draco said, squeezing Harry’s arm then going back to his book. 

“Draco.” 

“Yes?”

“I really like your hair today.” 

He pauses mid-flip of the page. “Thank you.” Then continues flipping the page.

He hears Harry release an amused puff of air, his relaxed laugh, before he started to arrange the money in the cashier.

It had taken a long time before they could close up shop and go for their walk but here they were. The pebbles crunched underneath him, the wind bit his cheeks, and his hair was swept up in a wild manner. He dare not look at his own reflection. Harry was by his side, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket and his hair was equally as atrocious as Draco’s. 

He likes to think that the harder the wind blows the better because it means his problems were taken very very far away from him. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the smell of salt and the smell of sweet ease just overflowing in him. Draco will be damned if ever he regrets moving in Brighton.

“Feeling better?” Harry asked. They’ve been walking for quite some time now. 

Draco hums. “Yeah. Thanks for the company.”

“Draco, of course,” Harry said. “Don’t tell me you have other friends here in muggle Brighton.” 

“You don’t know,” Draco shrugged. 

“I knew this day would come,” Harry mock sobbed. 

“You’re so eccentric,” the blond snorted.

“Git.” 

“Prat.” 

 

 

The next day, Draco rises first. Damn his 7AM class truly. He sets out to prepare breakfast for both of them, all the while hearing soft snores and occasional mumbling coming from Harry’s bedroom. He doesn’t think much, only makes bacon, eggs, toast, and a treacle tart Draco had impulsively prepared the night before.

Quiet footsteps have emerged and Harry is up and in a state of disarray. Glasses were wonky, hair was up and wild, shirt and shorts crumpled, and he just wasn’t enticing that morning. Draco released a breathy laugh. “Good morning, Potter.” 

“Morn,” was all he was capable of saying before he stumbled on the dining table. 

“Why are you up?” Draco asked. “It’s 5AM.” 

“It is?” Harry said, groggy. “I smelled food, thought 7AM.” 

“You’re such a catch,” Draco said sarcastically. “You can go back to sleep.” 

Harry nods dumbly. He stands, squeezes Draco’s hand and then stumbles back into his own room. “Have a day in school.” 

“I will have a day,” Draco calls out. He shook his head, fond. Draco finished his toast and gulped down his tea before he cast a charm on the food to keep it as it is until Harry ate it. He goes Harry’s bedroom to check on him and when he saw that the man was cocooned in his duvet, he disapparates. 

He realizes that no matter how old he is, he can never really feel as young as he does whenever he catches McGonagall’s scowl. “Yes, Minnie?” 

Her scowl deepens. “You’d think perhaps the unnerving mess of a student would end with Potter, Weasley, Granger, and you, but it seems the legacy goes on.” 

“What ever do you mean?” 

“I _mean_ some student is going through the chamber of secrets, rearranging books in the restricted area, playing with brooms, throwing rocks at Hagrid’s window and, worst of all, pulling out mandrakes in the middle of the bloody night,” she ranted, seemingly almost snapping her wand in two. “It’s ridiculous.” 

“I’m so glad I live outside of Hog—-” she glared at him. “But I will see if I catch sight of this monstrosity of a student and report back to you, Headmistress.” 

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, smiling a bit. “Have a biscuit.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, obliging. 

“Now, off you go,” McGonagall said, making ‘shooing’ motions with her hands. “You might be late for your lessons.” 

“I’m the _professor_ ,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not the student.”

“As far as you know,” she says as he walks out of the office. 

The students pointedly avoided his path much like how he’d avoid Snape during his first year. He is sure that McGonagall had made sure that the students were sensitive to his mental health but some people tried to push his buttons a little via whispers of ‘pillow biter’ and ‘death eater’ none of which elicit any sort of negative feelings from him. He just doesn’t care.

Until, the collision. “ _Watch where you’re going, Malfoy._ ” 

Draco’s shoulder throbbed as he leaned against the wall and held it. He turned and saw no sign of the person he hit him but he knew that the perpetrator was male. There was something in his voice that seemed so familiar but then the whispers came before he could even comprehend his own thoughts. 

His thoughts go to Harry and if sending him a Patronus was wise just in case he gets a panic attack, he thought against it and, instead, controls his breathing. Draco continued to walk on, head held high and as if what happened didn’t happen. It wasn’t enough to push him to a bad state but it does make him somewhat nostalgic in a weird way. He’ll have to contemplate why it is so.

“You look unwell, professor,” Emilia, one of his favorite students, said. Her hair was a poof of curls, a trait that wasn’t really prominent in Japanese girls and her freckles seemed to glitter somewhat. She was a hufflepuff and Draco grew fond of her because she reminded him of a less aggressive Hermione. 

Draco shrugged. “I’m not going to cancel our class if that is what you’re implying, Ms. Astruc.” 

“No, sir, I wasn’t hoping that at all,” she said, a mischievous smile forming. 

“Very well,” Draco said, dropping his book on the table. “Let’s begin.”

A chorus of flipped pages and hushed murmurings were heard. Draco proceeded to explain the care for materials, how to properly clean the test phials and what it meant if the glass was tinted. Admittedly, potions for first years was not his favorite. He rather favored third years or higher but he couldn’t exactly choose. 

He wondered if he should require muggle pens to his students because they were taking so bloody long with quill and parchment, surely the magical world could be more innovative than this. 

The only other problem he had besides the boring first year lessons and the quill writing time is that he always felt as if there was a student lurking at the back, staring into him and glaring. He’d always scan the room but to no avail. He’ll need to tell his therapist about this because it might be his paranoia acting up again.

He stops talking when he sees a familiar stag come towards him. _For fuck’s sake_. He looks at it curiously and it looked at him back. “What’s the spell you use for when you accidentally burn the meringues?” 

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He whispers the spell and sends his own Patronus. “ _Right._ ” 

“Professor, was that Mr. Potter’s stag?” Emilia asked. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Draco said. “He could have just—-nevermind. Where was I?”

 

 

 

“A Patronus in the middle of my class,” Draco said, once he apparated in their flat. “ _Really?_ ” He eyes his unexpected audience. “Good evening, Hermione and Ronald.”

“Evening,” they chorused. 

“Well, I was in a pinch, Draco,” Harry explained and Draco couldn’t possibly take him seriously whilst he was holding up his Mickey Mouse oven mitts clad hands up in surrender but he tries.

“Sir, was that Mr. Potter’s stag? Yes it bloody was Harry Potter’s stag, the boy who could have just texted me I mean really what would my extensive knowledge of this abominable contraption you call a mobile do?” Draco frowned. 

“I mean who else could I contact? Hermione? She’s the brightest witch of our age but she really isn’t good at cooking.” 

“ _Hey_ ,” she said, Ron patted her arm comfortingly and then shook his head. Hermione looks defeated. “Well, I think I could do worse.” 

“I’m sorry but, hey, I made fish soup,” Harry said, smiling. 

“You made fish soup,” Draco repeated. He got a nod as a response. “Fine, I’ll just go change.” 

Ron snorted. “Who knew that he could appease you with just soup.” 

“It’s his favorite,” Harry grinned. “If that doesn’t work, I’ve fucked up big time.” 

“I kinda pegged him as a pumpkin soup sort of guy,” Hermione said, putting one of Draco’s books under her scrutiny. 

“How was your day?” Draco asked, emerging from his room. He squeezed his hand as he passed him. 

“Grace was asking where you were and some of your little fangirls looked disappointed when I was the only one on the counter,” Harry said. “I almost cried over the meringue situation.” 

“Were you in a rough state?” He asked.

“Not bad but I could have been better, just a foggy moment,” Harry nodded. “I’m going to get a stress migraine later on so if you’re going to play a Julia Roberts film please lower the brightness and volume.” 

“Have we got any medicine for you, still?” Draco asked. 

The Gryffindor hummed in response. “Yeah, you got some last week.” 

“Okay,” the Slytherin said. He began to help Harry with setting up the dinner table and putting the food in serving bowls.

“And your day?” 

“First year potions is boring and Minnie is stressed out over the fact that we may have a successor of mischiefs since someone has been being a prat and going through the chambers, throwing rocks at Hagrid’s window, and other whatnot,” Draco said, good natured.  
“I’m just amazed she’s not losing hair.” 

“I agree with that.” 

“Dinner’s ready,” Draco called. 

“Thanks dads,” Ron said mockingly. “This looks amazing.” 

Hermione frowned a bit. “So where were those cooking lessons you promised me?” 

“It’s either you got it or you don’t, Granger,” Draco joked. 

“You’re a prat,” Harry chuckled. “When you’ve a time, ‘Mione.” 

“I’ll make sure she has time,” Ron nodded. “I can’t handle any more cooking experiments.” 

“Your belly’s fine,” she reassured him.

“Oh, sure, _that’s_ the problem,” he snorted. 

“Hermione,” Draco said. “We are going to watch Dying Young.”

“You’re a tit,” Hermione said. “You just want to make me cry.” 

“And this time for the right reasons,” the blond snorted. 

“Then maybe we shouldn’t watch it,” Ron said, then added. “For Hermione.”

“ _For Hermione_ ,” Harry repeated mockingly. “Sure, Ron.” 

“Excellent cooking,” Draco said, putting a hand on Harry’s thigh and letting it rest there for a couple of seconds before pulling away. 

Harry smiled so hard Draco was somewhat sure he broke himself. “Thanks, darli—-Draco.” 

_Darling_ , Draco intoned in his head. He caught Hermione shooting Harry a peculiar look, of course she’d catch on. It may be a small shift of relationship but it doesn’t escape Hermione Granger. What would slip past her anyway?

“Kind of tastes like mum’s cooking,” Ron said with a smile then quickly frowned. “Please don’t tell her I said that.” 

“Of course,” Harry chuckled. 

“I’ll make a note of putting that on your tombstone, Ronald,” Draco said. 

“HA HA,” Ron said, stabbing his potatoes. 

Harry winced at the sound so Draco summoned their pill box and handed it to him. “I’d rather have you drugged and loopy than cranky over Julia Roberts.” 

Harry shot him a glare. “Why do I feel like I’m competing with Julia Roberts? Am I not fit?” 

“Eh, you’re fit enough,” Draco said, patting his back good naturedly. 

“God _forbid_ I’m not fit enough for you,” Harry scoffed. 

Draco felt a pang of guilt as he laughed. “I’m not really a fan of tits, Potter.” 

“Are you seriously jealous of an actress?” Hermione snorted. 

Ron frowned. “I get you, mate. Hermione won’t shut up about James Bond.”

Hermione sighed. "He's a sexist pig blessed with an adequate face."

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said grumpily.

In the darkness when Harry was lying down with his head on Draco’s lap, Hermione and Ron were tearing up, and Dying Young was already on the television. Draco leans down and says, “I am perhaps more fond of you than Julia Roberts.” 

Harry, who was nursing a migraine, managed to groan. “I should hope so. I won’t cook for you anymore if it were any different.” 

Draco ran a hand through Harry’s hair and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a light hearted and very fluffy fic, I already have a lot more chapters in stock but I realized that it wasn't as good as I thought it would be so here I am rewriting everything again starting with chapter 2.

The air was crisp and fresh, all around were people seemingly so content with life. The street performers down the lane decided to play some bop worth parisian music that egged more couples to be as open as they could be about their relationship. The sky was the perfect tinge of aqua with clouds that seemed to be painted by Monet himself. And yet—-

Harry is not quite himself today, more of footsteps hitting pavement. He wished he was back to being obsessed with something or someone rather than having a never ending stream of thought endlessly push and pull in his head. It all came to him so fast and escaped him twice as faster, never letting him grab onto a thought and analyze it. Yes, something was mentally wrong with him but he refuses to let this define him, refuses to even have a trace of it; but it is him and he cannot change this fact. The thing he can change is how he would come to accept it.

Why were they there, he wonders. Did he really have to have such conditions, did he not go through so much shit. It’s the trauma, he supposes, and the fact that he only got to medically and physically treat it at such an overdue date helped but not as fast as it would have if he had gotten that sort of attention earlier. Let it be known that suddenly having friends and physical affection from new found people will not, in fact, cure any mental illnesses that were about to blossom.

He did not make good decisions prior to his therapy and medication, but then one of those decisions was to move in with Draco Malfoy, of all people, so perhaps it wasn’t that bad. At first, he wasn’t really expecting Draco to reply. Their meeting was adrenaline induced and short lived. Imagine, he couldn’t even tell Ginny that he loved her yet he could ask Draco to move in with him in a matter of days. God. The world was truly messed up.

Muggle Brighton was so beautiful, he thought. He could try to attempt magic and he knew no one would pay him any mind because anyone could do whatever they wanted here. He walks and lets the distinct sound of parisian music fade in the background. 

He somewhat wished he’d run into someone he knew, anyone he knew here. He also knew that this was impossible because they were all living in the wizarding world. Sometimes he can’t quite fathom what world was easier, the muggle world had electronics and there stood the wizarding world with—-well—-magic. 

“Harry.”

He jumps. “Luna?” 

Harry should just get used to the fact that he’d always be mistaken when it comes to making assumptions, even with assumptions as simple as not seeing a friend here and there. He blinked as he stared at Luna with her very colorful robes and ridiculous glasses that sparkled blindingly as she moved. It was more odd seeing any other wizard in a muggle area rather than just plainly seeing Luna in what could be the most normal setting he could think of. 

“Hello,” she smiles, gentle. “You seemed to be so far away.” 

Harry shrugged. “Well, you could say that. I was just...thinking.” 

“Do you do that a lot? It’s best you don’t overdo.” 

“That’s what my therapist says.”

“Your what?”

He sort of realizes why he hadn’t been able to reconnect with most of his friends and it’s because right now he’s looking at Luna and he can remember the feeling of death. It wasn’t Luna he was so offended by, it was the memories they shared together. If he wasn’t half way through recovery he wouldn’t be able to even talk to her.

He shook his head. “Why are you here?” 

Her eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. “Did you know that creatures here are quite exquisite? Rolf told me so except I’ve wanted to see for myself.”

Harry looked at Luna who looked somewhere far away. “Well, that’s a seagull. They don’t really matter much.” 

“Everything matters in some way,” she says softly. “It’s just you’re trying to figure why they’re there and what do you do with them.” 

Harry blinked.

“I’m talking about the seagull, of course.” 

“Of course.” 

They walked quietly, Harry wasn’t even sure if he invited Luna to walk with him but she did so and quietly. She looked around in a dazed dreamy way, making Harry think from the perspective of a teenager with a clouded judgment and view on things. He realized that today he wasn’t at all connected with his sense of hearing because he just realized that Luna positively ringed and jingled as she walked due to the tiny bells attached to her clothes.

Harry had briefly thought that Luna and Neville would hit it off, but then again he was a right ass when it came to judgement on relationships. He watched her run ahead, blonde hair flowing as she spun around and laughed. People were quick to glance then go back to their own thing. He wonders, would it have been easier if he had dated a blonde with all the soft curves rather than a blond with harsh angles.

No. It wouldn’t have been. He prefers both but, he supposes he’s much too in love with the personality rather than the gender. Like hell he’ll admit he loves arguing with his chosen partners.

“It’s so hard,” Harry heard him say, as if something of an out-of-body experience.

Luna looks at him as if she already knows. “You’re not alone, Harry.” 

“I know.”

“Do you?” 

Maybe, he doesn’t. He has been quick to isolate himself from the world. He has been quick to run away from who he was, granted, it was okay to take a break sometimes but when did his little ‘break’ turn into full blown isolation with no where to turn to. He was happy with Hermione, Ron, and Draco, but he’s beginning to think that perhaps he needed to go out more with different people. The coffee shop was there to provide daily interaction but he needed to learn how to reconnect again.

“How are you liking Brighton so far?” Harry asked. 

Luna beams at him. “It so wonderful. It smells like the sea.” 

“Some people get sick of it but I like having picnics by the sea side sometimes,” Harry said. 

“Sea sick,” she giggles. “A picnic by the sea side would be lovely. Will we be able to do it sometime?” 

“If you’d like,” he says. 

“You’ve not seen the rest of our friends for a while,” she said, Harry wonders how she is able to say it without bite or bitterness. “It might be a good idea to catch up.”

“Why did you really come here, Luna?” Harry asked. 

“For the seagulls,” she hummed. “What else for?” 

Right. Seagulls. How else could Luna find him in the middle of muggle Brighton without supervision from someone who is accustomed to the muggle life. “I’ve not seen you since...”

“The re-opening of Hogwarts,” she finished. “You looked ghastly then.” 

“And now?”

Luna gives him a once over. “Good. Better. How is Draco?” 

“He’s teaching first years at Hogwarts,” he said, unable to suppress a fond smile. “He’s doing well, I think. We’ve not had conversations about something otherwise. We keep changing therapists but he’s stuck to this one, strangely. How are you?” 

“Rolf and I are talking about marriage,” she said.

He smiled a bit. “That’s wonderful.” 

“Perhaps,” she said. “I guess I’m not quite ready.”

“Why?”

“The wind.”

“Excuse me?” 

“He goes wherever the wind takes him and so do I. We look for creatures but never look for the same one. I’m here today, and the next I’m away.”

He bit his tongue, willing himself not to comment on Luna’s accidental poetic way of speaking. “Does he know you’re not ready?” 

“It doesn’t come up,” she says. “I’ve no heart to tell him, I’m hoping he sees me.”

_I’m hoping he sees me._

“I hope he does, he’s a nice man.”

“You’ve never met him.”

How does he explain that Hermione gossips whenever she could and Ron was there to back up every single detail. “Yes.” 

And how had it become like this? Them discussing each other’s romantic life when they are two separate people. Perhaps it was because their common ground at the moment, it’s all they know of each other since they’ve last seen each other. If they were even to talk about what they used to, it’d be war strategies and that’s not something they both wanted to look back on, faded as it may be. Luna, however, has talked to Draco more than she has talked to Harry. He doesn’t take it personally, knows that he’s not part of the conversation or the familial awareness. 

There it was again, their romantic life. 

“What have you been working on as of late?” Harry decided to ask, genuine curiosity and interest.

“I’m working on studying Veelas,” Luna said. 

Harry nodded. “So you’ve been talking to Fleur?” 

“Yes, she’s wonderful,” she grinned. “But I’m afraid she doesn’t have all the answers, I keep jumping from person to person. It seems their mating rituals are very personalized to themselves. I’ve asked their permission if they wanted to be part of it, as well as be published on the Quibbler.” 

“Why Veelas?” 

Luna shrugged. “I still study the magical creatures such as dragons and unicorns but I like to put awareness on my articles. The war has been over yet there is still some discrimination. I want them to understand.”

“You sympathize, don’t you?” Harry asked.

“If only a little bit,” she says. “And you?”

“Freelance Auror,” Harry replied. He takes into account that Luna knows what ‘freelance’ means. “I think Ron is dragging me up to a case, says it’s right up my alley and safe enough for me to not get hurt. I miss the adrenaline, of course, who wouldn’t?”

“Who wouldn’t.” 

“But I’m also managing a coffee shop,” he continued. “Drop by sometimes, I am very proud of my pastries.” 

“I’d love to,” she beamed. “Are there honeydrop rainbow berry muffins?” 

Harry couldn’t help but make a face. “What is that?” 

“I’m just joking, of course.” _Of course._

“If I ever figure it out, I’ll take you up to the challenge of creating that rainbow berry thingamajiggy.” 

“Honeydrop rainbow berry muffins.” she said. “Well, thank you for escorting me to my apparition point.”

He escorted her to her apparition point? “No problem, Luna.” 

“I’ll see you soon, Harry Potter,” she said, voice reminding him of wind chimes on a hot afternoon. “Make sure that the food for the picnic is vegan.” 

“I’ll see you.”

_Pop!_

What the fuck was vegan?

* * *

Ron and Hermione had flooed into their flat at 6PM exactly. Hermione was giddy and smiling, accompanied by the rustling of grocery bags. Harry nudged at Draco playfully, knowing that the blond was going to teach Hermione how to cook a simple dish. Draco rolled his eyes and told him to have fun playing chess and debriefing. It would be the first time in a long time Harry was back in the field.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Mate, you need to get better.” 

“Fuck right off, Ron,” Harry grumbled. He watched as his queen was knocked down. “You said you wanted me to be on this case?”

“It’s easy enough for a start,” Ron said, his chin propped up on his hand. “It’s just another one of those illegal potions and poisoning. We don’t exactly know what he’s brewing but there have been varying cases of poisoning.” 

Harry tries not to scowl at his defeated knight. _Typical._ “What’s happening to the victims?” 

“Some just aren’t waking up, some are stuck in their own memories, some will randomly go into convulsions, some just aren’t responsive to anything, and some have attempted to take their own life,” Ron said, lips going into a thin line. “Like I said, it would be better if you were there because you’d sympathize.” 

“I’m sure that isn’t triggering whatsoever,” Harry scoffed. 

Ron stared. “And you think being an Auror and having to deal with cases that involve murder and gore isn’t triggering in the slightest? Please, Harry, you’re in it because you miss it.” 

Harry supposes that Ron was right, didn’t mean he had to like it. “Whatever.” 

“Brilliant,” the other man beamed. “I’ll send you your Auror robes as well as a copy of the file via owl.” 

“Do you have any leads?” Harry asked. 

Ron shrugged. “None so far. The case hasn’t been touched, we’re waiting on you.” 

Harry only hummed in response, far too concentrated in a game he’ll lose. Well, he was about to open his mouth and reply again but Draco had waltzed in the room with a stormy look. “Weasley, how have you not educated her on the different types of cheese?” 

Ron blinked. “Excuse me?” 

“Cheese, Ronald, the cheese,” Draco frowned. “Oh, forget it.”

“He’s very passionate about his cheese,” Harry murmured.

Draco nodded, eyes trailing down to the board. “Harry, honestly, you’re losing.” 

“Well, I’m not skilled, alright? Do you want me to open cans for you instead?” Harry harrumphed. 

Draco laughed, then leaned down. Harry broke into a sharklike grin in response. “You have fun with that, Potter.” 

“I appreciate your existence, mi amor” he called out, Ron guffawing with a scandalous look to match. “Checkmate.”

 

 

Hermione cringed at the sound of Harry’s laugh and Ron’s groan that mixed with a screech. Draco loved the fact that Ron hated losing to Harry especially if it was an unfair win. He lived for it. “I take it you made Harry win?”

“And wouldn’t I be such a bad partner if I let the Golden Boy lose?” Draco said, giving her a smug smile. “Hermione, you need to add more salt,”

Hermione frowned. “But it will make me look more bloated if I add anymore.” 

“Okay get fat over bland food or get fat over food you actually enjoyed,” the blond said. “Pick.” 

She added more salt. 

“Wine?” Draco asks. He was teaching her how to remake a simple spaghetti with bolognese dish. It was the easiest one he could think of. 

“ _Please._ ” 

“How are you and Ronald doing?” He asks conversationally as he poured wine in two glasses. He handed one glass to her and tried not to down his own glass in one second. He was tired. 

“Well,” she said. “There have been talks of marriage here and there. I honestly never thought I’d be the type to get tied down.” 

“And what did you expect?” Draco asked. “Boil the noodles.” 

“Right,” Hermione said, doing just that. “It’s just, I was not the most popular and I’ve never believed in having the capabilities to commit. It’s...it scares me. I get tired of what I do so easily and here I am committing today and forever to one person, just one face to look at and wake up to until the sweet release of death.”

Draco snorted. “Life is surprising, I suppose. A few years ago you’d love punching me in the face and now we’re drinking wine as I teach you how to cook.”

“It really is surreal,” she mumbles. 

“Oil the pan and put the onions.” 

She follows, her face seemed to look like she was in a dream like state. “You and Harry?” 

“We’re going slower than time itself,” Draco said, then smirked. “I sort of like it like that. I trust him and I don’t think it’s going in any other direction than the one we both intend for this to go.” 

Hermione hummed. “I’m happy that you’re both so trusting about this. It rattles me how you both can go as slow as you’re going.” 

“Hermione—-add the garlic—-it’s not so much as trust...it’s just I just know, you know?” Draco frowned. “We own a coffee shop together, we live together at the seaside like some sort of romance book, we talk to each other about our mental issues and also get therapy, we talk about our future, we haven’t dated or seen anyone outside of our current friend group in years even though we’ve already had so many chances to find someone else out there, we compromise really well, we cook each other food, and we even bloody check on each other when we wake up and before we sleep. It’s—-this isn’t going anywhere other than one path. I know that I’m aware and I know that he’s aware.” 

“God. I can’t believe it.” 

“What?”

“You two married before Ron and I did.”

“Alright.”

“You know, you’ve changed a lot. I thought it was just with Harry.”

“What ever do you mean.”

“I mean you don’t just act nice because Harry’s present. You’re being really gentle towards me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake just add the mushrooms and herbs. You add them when the previous ingredients have browned.” 

“Also, who knew we’d be having such a civil conversation,” Hermione snorted. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it. I might not use slurs but I will definitely mock your hair.” 

“You’re such a tit.” 

“Smells great,” a new voice said. 

“Hello, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Hel—-Granger, the other ingredients,” Draco said. 

Hermione frowned. “You think this is a bit too easy?”

“Do you want to try dinner date steak for two kind of thing next time, then?” Draco asked. 

“Yes! Ron is going to eat every last morsel,” she said. “ _And enjoy it._ ” 

“Wine?” Draco said, already passing Harry a glass. 

“Thanks,” Harry said.

Hermione gave him a look. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding from Ron,” Harry snorted. 

Draco stares. “Great hiding there, you oversized wig.” 

Harry snorts. “That’s creative, Draco.” 

Ron enters, booming. “You, curly and platinum blinding blond, both of you annoying. I swear Draco just went in there to make you win and not some cheese conundrum.” 

Hermione made a face. “What cheese conundrum?”

Harry laughed, playfully nudging Draco’s shoulder with his.

“Granger, you might be burning the sauce,” Draco sniffed at the same time Harry said “Wine?” 

“I bumped into Luna today,” Harry said, passing Ron a glass. 

Hermione makes an annoying noise when pan screeched against stove. “In muggle Brighton?” 

“Yep,” Harry said, popping the ‘p’. “She was—-err—-looking at seagulls.” 

Draco snorted. “Majestic.” 

“What did you two talk about?” Ron asked. 

“She mentioned wanting to go on a picnic by the seaside and that she’s...vegan.” 

Ron leans in closer. “A what?” 

“A picnic.” 

“I know what a bloody picnic is. A vegan?” 

Draco hummed. “She doesn’t want her food to contain animals or products of animals.” 

“That’s like her,” Hermione said absentmindedly. “Draco is this ready?” 

“Perfect,” Draco said, dismounting himself off of the kitchen counter. 

“Tables, got it,” Harry said, pulling out his wand and spelling the dishware and placemats to take their places. Hermione places the food in the serving bowl before she carried it to the table. The boys all waited for her, Ron with a nervous chewing of his lips, Harry with an absent minded checking of his phone, and Draco with pure and utter confidence plastered on his face.

Hermione bit her lip as she sat down, hands clasped in front of her. “Go ahead.” 

Draco released an inelegant snort at the sound of Ron’s gulp. “Ronald, it won’t _kill_ you.” 

 

Ron took his first bite with an over dramatic grimace. He then straightened up, a smile on his face. Hermione released a sigh of relief, then scowled and leaned forward with an accusing finger pointed at her boyfriend. “You’re not lying? I’ll know when you’re lying.” 

“It’s really good,” Ron said, smiling toothily. 

Hermione leaned back, stiff but nodding. “Oh, alright, okay....uh...dig in.” 

Draco patted Hermione’s shoulder. “Good job.”

* * *

Draco was putting on a thick navy blue jumper along with some jeans, before making his way out of his room. Harry was sat on the kitchen island with nothing but a white robe and some socks, he was reading the newspaper while drinking his cup of tea. He looked like a father of three the way he dressed. _Merlin._

“You can handle the coffee shop for today?” Draco asked as he took Harry’s mug and drank some tea from it as well. He scowled. “Ugh.”

“I know right,” Harry snorted. “And yes I can handle myself while you go visit Parkinson.” 

“Don’t break the good plates,” Draco frowned.

“That implies that I can break the bad ones.” 

“ _Potter_.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughed. “Don’t worry about me. Take care, Draco.” 

“See you in a bit,” Draco said as he stood by the floo. He offered Harry a gentle smile. “Parkinson Residences.” 

Pansy owled him one evening with the word ‘tea’ jotted down in her unusually shaky penmanship. He knew that it was nothing great, her letters usually contained snark but this was but one word. It was frightening, almost. He didn’t quite know what the conversation would be about but if he had to guess then it would probably be something about him being an absolute tit or her mental stability (or lack thereof). 

Along with everyone else, Pansy also had to undergo therapy. It was gorey, to say the least. She was the last person to trust an absolute stranger with her innermost secrets. It took Draco five months to convince her that talking to her friends will not help her because it’s all very biased and unprofessional. It got worse when she kept asking Draco advice for her mental state, it was like the blind leading the blind. It was pointless. 

It was devastating to see her have potion withdrawals, specifically, dreamless sleep. One of the most common side effects was insomnia and wow did that hit her like a fuck ton of bricks because she did not sleep for two weeks straight. She’d try but would only have ten minute naps at most. Draco couldn’t be with her at all times or at all, trying to better himself as well and with that came his mood swings and anxiety attacks and his need to self-isolate.

It’s stupid, in fact, to focus everything on someone else and forget that you need help too. 

Draco stepped out of the floo, to be greeted by Pansy who was already sat on a chair and pouring herself some tea. She was wearing clothes fit for a night out and her make-up was impressive as well. “Are you going out?”

She blinked at him then shook her head. “No, darling, I pretty much wanted to kill myself because I felt really ugly so here I am.”

He rolled his eyes, taking his seat across from her. “Not a funny joke, Pans.” 

“I’m not joking,” she said. “I wish I was.” 

Draco poured himself some tea, allowing Pansy to gather everything in her head and compose it so they could understand each other. It was a sharp contrast with this morning’s light hearted banter. He readied himself. He noted the bags under her eyes and loosened rubber band around her wrist. “Tell me.” 

“My restaurant chains are moving at an all time high,” she said. “It seems their favorite is the lemon sherbet and the magical chicken that you’ve so wonderfully created a recipe for.” 

“Is that so?” Draco replied. 

“I’d assume you’d want some fees for that,” Pansy said. “Especially since I might ask for more recipes.”

She was so awfully stiff that it was almost painful for Draco to just sit here and converse with her. “You jest but you know you’ll run out of money for my genius ideas.” 

Pansy laughed at that and he’s never been so relieved to make someone laugh before. “Truly.” 

They sat in silence for a while. Draco had to keep himself from doing ‘tough love’ because that did not work on Pansy, she’d always go further back into her shell. He had to, much to his dismay, read about love languages and how to differentiate it.

“I thought I was doing well,” she sighed. “I mean I was.”

Draco hummed, knowing that this was a shift to serious matters. “You defeated the withdrawals.” 

“And I’m very proud of myself for that but...” she trailed off. 

He placed his cup of tea back on the table, eyes locking with hers. “You can trust me.” 

Pansy seemed to be able to breathe right then and there. “It’s bad again, Draco.” 

He nods. 

“The nightmares are coming back,” she said, as if there’s something stuck in her throat. “Not all at once, they’re coming back in flashes.” 

“I dare not ask what they are composed of.” 

“Thank you. I—-I’ve been going to my therapist more and more and I’ve been drinking my potions and tablets diligently,” Pansy said, sighing. Her frustration was clear. “I’m doing yoga with Granger for fuck’s sake. Draco, I don’t understand.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

She sends him an exasperated scowl. “Tired, stressed, numb, nothing, like I want to cut myself, and everything else in between.” 

“Shit. Pansy, I’m shit at this.” 

“I didn’t ask you to come here and change my life,” Pansy snorted. “I asked for you to be here because I needed to tell someone, I feel like I’ll lose my mind.” 

Draco sighed. “I’m here for you. I am.” 

“I know,” she said. “I’ve been tempted to take Dreamless Sleep again.” 

There is a sinking feeling in his chest, he did not want Pansy going back to the state that she was. Oddly enough, it seemed rather weird for to just suddenly revert back to this. It had taken her years of careful construction, laying down strong foundations so that she won’t topple over. He saw her at her worst and best. “Are you taking care of yourself?” 

“I’m not doing anything stupid,” Pansy said. “I’m not a complete idiot.” 

Draco nodded. “Good.”

To assume that they’d fix Pansy’s predicament in one sitting was presumptuous and stupid and yet Draco couldn’t help but hope that Pansy would feel better at the end of the day, knowing fully well what it’s like to be in the position that Pansy’s in right now. And—-

—-and so they settle for light talks. They talk about how Pansy was going to create a tavern in Hogsmeade to accommodate people with needs. It ranges from sex dungeons to a simple single bed room. They also talk about how Draco was trying to create a potion to replace Dreamless Sleep, something less harmful and with less side effects. It could be like a smoker’s patch for those addicted to cigarettes. 

Whenever he talked he could see the lapse of attention in Pansy’s bodily actions, but he doesn’t point it out because he could see how she was snapping herself back into place right away. It was a grand gesture.

Blaise, according to Pansy, was in and out of the country. He mostly came back for Pansy but then went out again for some business partnership in America and Australia. He offered for Pansy to join him, referring to the fact that maybe travelling will help her but she opted to stay somewhere familiar and that she’d owl him everyday and that was that. There had been no more arguments except for when Blaise splinched himself in an attempt to apparate while drunk. 

Pretty soon Draco had to go, seeing that Pansy was steadily growing tired. He knew that once she was sleepy, it would be smart of her to pursue sleep. He gave her a kiss on the cheek before he apparated in the coffee shop kitchens. 

 

 

Draco leaned against the cashier counter, carefully relishing each word on his book. Harry was at the back making pies and the scent was enough to distract him but not quite, he knows that the pies will be sweeter than sin because that’s what pastries tasted like when they had a smidge of Harry’s magic in it. 

If he listened closely, he’d hear the sea. He remembered the first time he walked around Brighton. It had been really cold but, luckily, the warming charm was enough to keep him from shivering himself to death. He had walked around, Harry falling only but a few feet away to give him some time to take in everything. They had checked central London and it was a bit too hectic for Draco’s liking and now they’ve just been back from Bath wherein everything smelled like horse shit. 

Brighton was different, Brighton was crisp and bright and everything he’s been trying to find. There are street performers that _smiled_ at him and then there were little shops that had such fun vintage designs. 

And then, there was the sea. His hands rested on the small railing that separated pavement from gravel. It seemed to speak a different language or all languages all at once. He felt his freedom here. He didn’t even care that his hair was sticking up in different directions just that he could smell the salt in the sea and he could see a new horizon. 

“Have a taste?” Harry’s voice brought him back. “That book must be pretty good if it has you smiling.” 

Draco coughed. “Yeah, of course.” 

The blond reached for small plate and the fork, neatly taking a bite of the pumpkin pie. _Sweet._ “You want to add more cinnamon?” 

“Pretty much,” Harry hummed, taking the plate and then disappearing in the back. Draco went back to his book, squinting. Was this really his chapter? Did he somehow daydream while reading? 

The bell rings, tearing him away from his book yet again. There stood a charming man that looked at the room all starry eyed and there was a bit of a glow to him. Draco had to admit that this man was very attractive. His eyes were an insane molten brown and Draco loved pretty eyes. “Hello, how can I help you?” 

“In a lot of ways,” the man grinned. Draco named him Adam in his head. “I didn’t think I’d see anyone attractive in this time of day.”

Draco snorted. “Lucky you so what will it be?” 

Adam stared up at the menu board then back at him. “Black coffee with three sugars. I’ll also have a lemon bar.” 

“Alright,” Draco said, placing his book on the counter before preparing everything. He shudders at the smell of coffee, knowing how much he absolutely hated that vile thing. He also placed the lemon bar in a small bag.

Adam didn’t move, leans in further. “Is there anyway I can get your number?” 

Oh and it isn’t that rich? He smiled. “Sorry but I already have someone.”

Adam cocked a brow. _So?_

“ _And_ we’re both happy with the situation,” Draco said. “I’m sorry but I do hope you enjoy your day.” 

“You too,” Adam smiled, talking his coffee and his lemon bar. 

Harry stumbles into view, face scrunched up as he carried a hot tray. Draco sighed, back in his seventh year he would have killed to get attention from a guy as attractive as ‘Adam’. Then again, there was this curly haired boy with the greenest fucking eyes putting pies on display with such a happy expression and, oh god, he thinks he’s hit jackpot with this one. 

“You should’ve taken his number,” Harry says coolly as he leans on the counter.

Draco snorted. “And what? Hear you whining?” 

“Yes,” Harry grinned. “He’s awfully attractive.” 

Draco looks at Harry, sees the insecurity, hears the _don’t leave me._ “I’m fine. I have you, don’t I?” 

Harry broke into a bigger smile. “Well, me and my cooking skills.” 

“When does your work start?” Draco asked before his heart did that thing again. Traitor. 

“Tomorrow,” Harry said. “Will you be here to work in the cafe?” 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “So you can go out and have fun.” He paused, mouth thinning into a line. “And be safe.” 

“Of course,” Harry said. 

Draco sighed. “We need to get other employees for this place. We’re not going to be able to sustain this for too long.” 

“I’m sure we can manage,” Harry said. “No one bakes the meringues and tarts as good as you do.”

“You flatter me,” Draco said. They remained quiet again, Harry making enough noise for the both of them with his constant tapping. He can’t help but look back on his conversation with Pansy. 

It did no good to anyone to compare symptoms with each other but Draco can’t quite help himself. He hasn’t had an episode in a while and he’s scared that when the anniversary effect comes up the bubble that he’s been blowing and ignoring would finally pop. He’s worried about who he’ll harm or offend on accident.

He remembers the look on Pansy’s face and can’t help but sigh. She looked like she really wanted to give up, how she looked so calm about it was beyond him. It’s okay to have a breakdown, it’s okay to feel down sometimes but it was different. It was off. It was out of context but then again that’s what a breakdown was composed of. It scared him. 

There are times you’ll want to die for no reason at all and that scares Draco the most.

What if he pursues it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff and domesticity  
> auror case  
> draco's mental health  
> mental health (or lack thereof)

Harry decided that he absolutely despised St. Mungo’s but only because of how much it smelled like death and antiseptic, something he practically lived in during years before. He noted that people were looking at him with astonishment and it made him feel rather insecure and queasy. He wanted to disappear and retreat but he felt Ron’s presence beside him and knew that there was no turning back. 

The medical staff eyed them and then their robes, moving out of the way for them to pass but they all still looked at Harry from the corner of their eyes. He should have really took up Draco’s offer on having a glamour charm placed upon him because this was just ridiculous, he was on an ongoing investigation, he didn’t want to be a glowing beacon. 

It’s been a while since he was back here, the last time he was here Draco was—-

“You’d think your fame would die down by now,” Ron snorted. 

Harry sighed. “Apparently not.” 

“Well, you do make the paper every so often.” 

“Really?” He looked at Ron. “What was the latest one?” 

“The Patronus you sent to Draco while he was in class.” 

Harry groaned. “God. If he ever gets wind of that I’m not going to be able to handle his pouting.” 

“Will you kiss it off of him?” Ron laughed.

“What the fuck?” Harry said. _Maybe._

“Anyway, serious matters,” Ron said, trying to physically wave off the matter of pouting lips and kissing with his hand. “We’ve already requested for their medical history and current medical files and it will be owled to you shortly.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Though don’t you think this visit to the hospital is a bit unnecessary.” 

“Perhaps,” Ron said. “But we’ll need every bit information we can get.”

“Did even their uniforms change while I was away?” Harry sighed, eyeing the blue, pinks, and yellows.

Ron shrugged. “A lot has. The mind healers, specifically, are blue. The yellow ones are trainees, and I’m not quite sure about the pink ones.” 

“Any specific reason for the color?” 

“Just the blue one, mentally, it’s a color that implies trust.” 

“Go figure.” 

Ron stopped in front of one of the hospital doors, releasing a sigh before opening it. All at once, they were hit with what could have been a dramatic reenactment of everything Harry had just lived through. _Not fucking triggering at all._ Ron shot him a careful glance and Harry just _knew_ that he was thinking of the same thing.

Two of the beds had a silencing charm, patients seemingly screaming ‘til the veins on their neck jutted out in aggression. They were so aggressive that the sheets were either ripped or strewn across from them. One of the beds beside them had a small girl, seemingly asleep. It reminded Harry of Sleeping Beauty except this won’t be cured by a kiss. The bed across had a man reading a book—-or not. His eyes were glazed over and he seemed to do more staring than reading. The bed beside him had a woman curled into a ball but staring at nothing, the bed across had someone strapped onto it. 

It reminded him of his past, strangely. He wanted to hold them, each one of them, and tell them that everything will better. Everything will be okay. Except, he wouldn’t do that because he knows how bullshit that sounds. Instead, he wants to tell them to get up and take a bath or wash the dishes. Do everything they’ve neglected.

“These are six out of twenty of the patients who are experiencing similar, if not, the same symptoms after consuming something,” Ron said. 

Harry released a sigh. “Then I guess we better get interviewing.” 

Ron made a rather big mistake when stepping into the boundaries of the silencing charm spelled on the last two beds. Harry watched as Ron grimaced, all the while trying to ask questions. The ginger stepped backwards, rubbing his ears in discomfort. Harry let out a quiet chuckle before moving towards the man reading a book. 

“Hello,” Harry said softly. “I’m Auror Potter.” 

The man looked up, eyes still unfocused. He seemed to be worlds away. “I haven’t slept in weeks.” 

Harry frowned. “Tell me more of this.” 

“Just that,” the man sighed. “I haven’t slept in weeks. I want to but I can’t. They try not to give me sleeping potions because they don’t know how it’d react with the initial one.” 

“Where did you get the last potion?” 

“A local apothecary,” the man said, knitting his eyebrows. “I don’t—-I can’t remember.” 

“Try to,” Harry said. “Do you remember the day?” 

The man closed his eyes. “It was sunny. I buy different potions at different times.” 

“Do you remember taking it and drinking something only to feel odd?” 

“I had remembered only taking what I was supposed to and everything got worse,” he said, sighing. “My mind healer was trying to help me through my insomnia but I couldn’t—-I...”

Harry inhaled sharply as the man in front of him progressively went red as the time went by. “Okay, alright.”

The man slumped back down to breathe. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. I just remember feeling so tired and exhausted and like—-like drowning.” 

“Thank you,” Harry said. “I’ll leave you to your rest.” 

Harry, for the life of him, did not know how Ron looked so composed as the one he was interviewing looked like she was about to vomit. He wanted to get out of the room as soon as possible but he proceeded to take up the challenge of going to the screaming patient. He took a deep breath, if he had handled Draco at his absolute worst—-there’s nothing he can’t do. 

He stepped into the bubble, instantly regretting it as the high pitched scream rang in his ears. “I’m Auror Potter I—-” 

More screaming. 

“I’m here to—-” 

He can’t concentrate. 

“Would you please—-”

**Fuck it.**

“Instead of bloody hurting yourself, why don’t you try to vocalize what’s wrong? Do you think people can help if you yourself don’t try to?” 

There were echoes of history with what he just said. He would be ultimately surprised if he didn’t make it worse except that it seemed to work somehow. The woman blinked, eyebrows knitting as she tried to look at him. It was as if she had just woken up. She still screamed but seemed to be more aware. 

“Try! I can help you if you don’t try!” He tries to overpower her volume.

She closed her eyes shut, almost painfully. 

There’s a ripple on the silencing charm and Harry’s afraid that it might burst. He took her hand in his and gripped it. “I’m going to do my best to stop this.” 

She blinked up at him, eyes going from Harry’s own to her twitching hand. She took her hand slightly, tapping on Harry’s skin with her index and middle finger. “What?”

She began to tap furiously, eyes desperate and pleading. If Harry could only figure out what she was pointing out or a pattern—-a _pattern_. “Is this...are you trying morse code?” 

The girl nodded, fingers stilling until Harry nodded for her to proceed. 

-.-. .- -. .----. -

_Can’t._

... - --- .--.

 _Stop._

“Can’t stop,” Harry said. “Do you know who did this to you?” 

-. ---

 _No._

“What do you remember?”

\--. --- .. -. --. / -... .- -..

 _Going bad._

“What do you mean?” She began her tapping but her fingers stopping and her screamed intensified, charm waving and sloshing around them with the magnitude. 

-.-. .- -. .----. - / .-. . -- . -- -... . .-.

_Can’t remember_

“I promise we’ll get through this together,” Harry said. He knew better than to promise things, knew better than to go way ahead of his own knowledge. “I promise I’ll find a way.”

And she didn’t need to tell Harry anything because Harry knew what that look meant. _Please._

It was so desperate, he’s instantly pulled back to a dark time in the past. He forces the thought away but his thoughts have a funny way of becoming louder when they know you’re bothered by it. Unfortunately, the thoughts are stronger and proceed to gift him with images. Blood. Tears. Too many. 

“I’ll be back,” Harry said, stepping away. He staggered backwards, knowing he’d fall if Ron didn’t steady him. “Your turn next time.” 

“No thanks,” Ron huffed, giving Harry’s shoulder a pat before he let go. “The two over there can’t remember much or so they mentioned. This was pointless after all.” 

“She has no control over her screaming,” Harry said. “Whatever this is, it’s not something you can physically fix yourself. I don’t know if they can even wait it out.”

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Draco made tea and set aside Harry’s favorite mug. He needed to make tea to cover the vile bitterness of the potion he was ordered to drink. He really did favor sweet things. Long fingers played with phial, shoulders shrugging as he popped off the cover and drank it. He tried not to shudder. It’s really unfair that Harry didn’t have to take these.

Draco looked down at his knitting, unstitching a row because he got distracted by the damned Julia Roberts film. Honestly, damn her and her gorgeous curly hair and iconic lips. He’s only slightly joking of course. He was knitting a midnight blue sweater and he’s mixing in magic with a little bit of handsy muggle touch. It was supposed to be _relaxing_ and he sure did need it after a first year kept arguing with him that cauldrons are made up of clay and _it’s made out of pewter you fucking imbecile_ but he’s over it.

“There is a distinct possibility that I am profoundly and irreversibly screwed up,” Draco said, along with the movie. He grinned. 

It’s quite ridiculous, really, for Draco Malfoy, the heir and head of a Pureblood family, is now sitting on a second-hand sofa he bought with Harry and knitting to a muggle film of a curly haired muggle he quite enjoys. Oh, and, he’s gay.

Runaway Bride. He remembered the first time he watched this. He had pestered Harry to cook him Eggs Benedict because _that is the only way he’ll eat eggs_ , Harry had been annoyed but only a little bit because he still had that fond expression on his face. After that, Draco realized that he very much liked his eggs cooked in the form of a tasty vegetable omelette. 

Draco had been feeling very content these past few weeks, stable, even. It scares him a bit to feel this way, knowing that his mood and condition can switch to something horrific with just a day or even a minute. He has set to see a new mind healer soon. He feels stable enough to move from therapist, psychologists, and psychiatrists to mind-healers. Draco had been partial when it came to this.

The mind healers aren’t as updated as their muggle equivalent because they tend to just base everything on magic rather than looking at physical symptoms, even going as far to just offer him Calming Draught as if that was the solution to everything. These days, however, he was informed that they were getting better with treatments and Draco would like to test it out. He could always back out if he felt like it wasn’t for him. 

“ _Confundus_!” Draco turned around in anger, same anger dissipating when he saw Harry standing there in a tight panicked hug with Ron. “You could warn a guy.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed. 

Harry sighed, unwrapping himself from Ron. “Sorry for the late warning. I didn’t know we’d be home early.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m just knitting,” Draco said. 

Harry gave him a toothy grin, approaching him and leaning in to kiss the crown of Draco’s head. “That’s amusing. What are you making?” 

“You smell like the hospital,” the blond complained, pulling away a bit. “I’m making you a sweater.”

The blond gasped _beautiful_ when he sees Harry’s eyes positively brighten. “I’m excited. Thank you so much.” 

“Well,” Draco coughed. “Get your wallet ready because it’s grocery night tonight.” 

“Always ready,” Harry said. “We’ll just be in the office, unless you want us to work with you?” 

“Work with me here,” Draco hummed.

The brunette waggled his eyebrows. “Missed me.”

Draco scowled. “Get lost.” 

Ron groaned loudly. “If you’re going to flirt—-”

“Yes yes,” Harry laughed. “We’ll control ourselves.” 

“I’m just going to use the loo,” Ron said. “Then I’ll be off.”

“I thought you were staying for research?” Harry asked, taking off his coat and placing it on the backrest of a chair. 

Ron shook his head. “I just remembered about Hermione somehow persuading me into tasting one of her ‘invented’ recipes. So, if you don’t mind.”

“Alri—-” Draco was cut off when Harry wrapped him up in a hug once Ron had disappeared in the narrow hallway. “Harry, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he murmured. 

Draco raked his fingers through the curly mess, chuckling. He shifted so that his arms were around the other man as well, careful to lay down his knitting materials to the side. He tried to ignore the lingering smell of antiseptic. “Dearest, it’s okay.” 

Harry snorted. “Dearest?” 

Draco’s face twitched, face reddening. “I—-” he hears the door click, pushing Harry away. “Weasley, you better have left our bathroom clean.”

“Fuck outta here, Malfoy,” Ron said, good natured. Harry gives them both an amused look before he disappears into their office. He knows that Draco must have received the documents for him and placed it in their shared office. He trudges back to the living room and sits across Draco. 

“Yes, Weasley, I’m knitting,” Draco grunted. “What are you even staring for?”

“You messed up on that row there,” Ron said. 

 

Draco scowled. “Merlin’s heavy fucking bollocks.” 

Ron shrugged. “Just thought I’d let you know. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”

“See you,” Harry said, proceeding to look down at his files despite the pop of apparition. 

It was quiet, save for the page ruffling, the Julia Roberts film, and the knitting. Draco was almost comfortable with this except for the fact that Harry seemed to be sighing every damn minute. He should really ask but Harry was very vocal and he’d complain about it sooner rather than lat—- “I hate potions related cases.”

“Because?” Draco asked, finally fixing the row. 

“Alihotsy,” Harry frowned. 

“Leaves taken from a Hyena tree,” Draco said automatically, eyes glazing over. His brain supplying him with the memory of a potions book he had once read when he was bored in Severus’ office. It was faint and the picture was blurry. “If and when consumed, it can cause hysteria and/or uncontrollable laughter.” 

Harry blinked. “It scares me when you do that.”

Draco stared. “Do what?” 

“Like you just fog up and you stare into the distance and it’s like some Jimmy Neutron shit,” Harry said. 

“Jimmy what?” Draco blinked. “Whatever. I’m sure you have the answer you need.” 

“There were traces of Lethe water, and wormwood,” Harry frowned. “All the other ingredients aren’t distinguishable.” 

Draco frowned as well. “Are they trying to make Draught of the Living Dead? Wait—-there isn’t alihotsy there.” 

“I can’t remember,” Harry murmured. “Oh fuck.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I think whatever he’s trying to make it’s triggering the victims,” Harry frowned, shuffling the files. “See, here, she isn’t waking up—-”

“Wormwood.” 

“This guy can’t remember, it’s not that he _doesn’t_ it’s that he _can’t_.”

“Lethe.” Draco stopped knitting, favoring leaning in towards Harry in serious concentration. “Yes, but they can still barricade the victim’s memories. Lethe can just make the recent things blurry, it’s not very specific with the memories. This guy is posing as someone, he needs to be subtle and he needs to be smart.” 

“You’re saying he obliviated them?” Harry said. “I don’t see a way he can.” 

“Perhaps not now,” Draco said. “We haven’t found a connection as of yet.” 

Draco blushes at his usage of ‘we’ it wasn’t as if they were bloody partners on this but Harry didn’t seem to mind and only nodded at this, accepting. “You’re so bloody brilliant.” 

The blond coughed to cover his squeak. “What’s new?” 

“Oh fuck.”

“What, again?” 

“All the ingredients found in the victims vary in amount,” Harry said. “He’s making batches of these things.” 

“So these people,” Draco said, swallowing hard as he looked at all the papers. “Are they just test subjects?” 

“The last victim had been admitted four weeks ago, a big change from once a week,” Harry said. “I’d say he’s done.”

* * *

“Harry, _please_.” 

“No.”

“Potter.” 

“I said no.” 

Draco pouted, looking away and crossing his arms. He petulantly left the cart, making Harry backtrack so that he could push it. “I am not buying blue cheese to feed the pureblood in you, Draco.” 

“Okay.” 

But Harry was so soft and Draco looked so sad. “Look, how about camembert?” He could see a hint of a smile at that. “And maybe some wine?” 

Draco beamed, gingerly picking up the camembert and placing it in their cart. “Thank goodness.” 

“I’m much too soft for this,” Harry sighed. 

“For grocery shopping?” 

“Oh, you know, just go away.” 

“No can do, Potter. Besides, I think you’re bloody fit,” Draco laughed. “Listen, we can even get that marmalade jam that you like.”

“The one you absolutely hate but finished anyway?” Harry snorted. 

“We’ll buy everything you want,” Draco said, walking beside him and letting their shoulders brush together. 

“I’m not really used to that,” Harry joked as he checked the meats. “Just a bit of household abuse during my formative years, no big deal.” 

“Don’t even joke,” Draco sighed. “Why don’t you let me spoil you tonight, my love.” 

“We have a shared bank account, Draco,” Harry huffed. “And calling me ‘love’ implies that you feel such affections towards me.” 

Harry could feel Draco still, hear his breath catching. “Perhaps I do.” 

“It’s just like you to profess your love for me in the frozen goods section,” Harry grinned, proceeding to walk. They needed milk. 

“Just as well,” Draco hummed. “To keep my heart from warming too much.” 

Harry snorted. “Oh, and god forbid. What cereal do you want?” 

“Yours,” Draco hummed. “Oh, do you want crisps? Which?” 

“Yours.” 

“God,” Draco groaned. “Why do we even bother.” 

“No idea,” Harry said, putting some Oreos in the cart. 

He heard Draco mutter something to himself and then, “we mustn’t forget the honey.” 

“What’s that for?” Harry asked, wondering why the hell Draco looked like a suspicious character burying himself in his scarf and smiling at him like that. 

“I’m going to make you dinner tomorrow night as part of spoiling you,” Draco said. 

“Color me intrigued,” Harry smiled. 

It was 11PM at night and he was out here doing some grocery shopping with Draco Malfoy. It wasn’t that odd, they both preferred doing this at night because there was less of a crowd and everyone was pleasant at night. They were either really stoned or too adrift to even care about anything or anyone. They were shopping so slowly as if they didn’t have an early start tomorrow. 

Draco was right, of course, they needed to get employees since they’d be out more. They couldn’t just close the shop, it meant too much to them for that to even be a possibility. He’s just worried about if they’d hire wizards or muggles because either could be bad. The muggles wouldn’t know the little magical quirks of the pastries but the wizards wouldn’t know the muggle aspects. _Merlin._

“Yeah,” Draco said.

“What,” Harry said, confused. 

Draco cocked a brow. “Yeah, I’ll handle the shop and the employees.” 

“I was actually wondering if there was still toilet paper at home,” Harry smirked. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure.” 

“I don’t think it’s fair that I just leave it up to you,” Harry frowned. It was true. This was a joint business so it’s only fair for Harry to share the workload with Draco, even if Draco loved taking and piling up his work to the point of a massive breakdown. 

“Very Gryffindor of you,” Draco sighed. He looked at Harry who was on the verge pouting if he wasn’t checking the eggs. “I’m going to ask help from Hermione and Pansy.”

“Why Hermione?” Harry understood that Pansy owned a chain of restaurants.

“Contracts, background checks, and interviews.” 

“Oh.”

“Ah, wait, she might scare them away.”

“And I suppose Pansy is, what, a less intimidating rabbit?” 

Draco snorted. “Point.” 

“I think all this years staring at each other just made us completely aware of each other’s preferences,” Harry said, frowning as they both got the same item at the same time.

“And is one of those preferences cock?” Draco asked.

Harry blushed as a random lady blinked and scowled at them. He cleared his throat and bowed his head in apology. “Tactless. You’re tactless.” 

Draco merely shrugged. “She was eyeing you.”

* * *

Draco couldn’t quite shake the image of Pansy’s face off of his mind. She looked worse compared to the last time that they’ve met. When she smiles at him, it was always the ghost of a smile. He almost felt guilty for even going to her house to ask her for some potential employees. Pansy had read this and told him that it would be fine, she’s not going to break just because she had to find Draco some employees for the coffee shop.

It was true. 

And, yet, he could see how gaunt she looked and how miserable she looked. He knew what she smelled like and she smelled like she never got out of bed except for this one moment. He contacted Blaise after the visit, telling him about this. He’s surprised to note that Blaise never noticed because she always sent such cheerful owls and their calls together were anything but down. Blaise had booked a portkey then and there.

“Professor,” Emilia said, cutting into his thoughts. 

Draco shook his head. “Yes?”

“Am I doing this right?” Emilia asked. 

“Of course you bloody are,” the boy behind her scoffed, bitterly looking at his own cauldron. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll be with you shortly, Mr. Coleson. What is it, Ms. Astruc?”

“I did everything correctly and yet it’s still not turning blue,” she frowned. “I checked everything. I have a checklist.”

 _Oh Hermione would be so proud of you._ He loomed over the cauldron, a slightly amused expression on his face. “You just need to let it sit, Ms. Astruc.”

“Let it sit?” 

“Leave it alone for five minutes,” Draco clarified. 

She blinked. “But I did do—-” the potion frizzled and turned blue. “—it.”

He merely stared at her. 

“Not a word, sir,” she sniffed. 

 

His day of teaching ended just at the right moment where he wanted to scream. His usual biscuits and tea with McGonagall was traded off in favor of just walking around. He makes a mental note on his potions and pills, he’s due for one later at dinner and he’s already taken one this morning. His mind was a bit muddled up, nothing fresh air couldn’t fix.

It was really just aimless walking around, numbly greeting students and stuff. He was definitely fine. Except for the moments where he sees Pansy in his head and then hears her chilling sobs from way back when. He doesn’t know why he’s so bothered by this, it’s one thing to worry, it’s another to mull over it even on your free time. He should talk to someone, he knows, but he likes this independent feeling. At any rate, no one will understand. 

He further thinks about it, thinks about what had gone wrong.

The anniversary date of the battle would sooner come to him, triggering the anniversary effect. It is already October, needless to say, he was already in some sort of predicament at this time. He blames it on that. He blames his faltering mood on that, just to find any sort of reason besides pinning the blame on himself like he usually does.

“I see you’re a bit resentful,” a voice said.

Draco’s focus turned to the portrait of Dumbledore. “A mite.” 

“What of?”

“This and that,” Draco scowled. “I feel like I’m stuck with no way out...again. It’s like it only gets darker from here.”

“There’s always light at the end of the tunnel.”

“How incredibly cliche.” 

“I’m sure all it takes is talking to someone.” 

“Talking implies that—-” Draco paused, sighing. “Oh, what do you know? You’re a portrait.”

“As far as you know.” 

Draco looked up from the ground. “What is that supposed to—-he’s gone. Typical.” 

He’s always believed that Dumbledore was an odd one, never mind the rumors of his usage of the elder wand as anal beads. He’s left to briefly wonder if old gay men really do turn out as exuberant as Dumbledore had once been, then again Draco might just turn into a Snape. He will not, for the life of him, get greasy hair _no way in fucking hell will that happen._

He checks his watch, pursing his lips. He should really get home but there’s this itching feeling that he needed some place to be and that place isn’t something that exists and, with that, he apparates home. 

“Welcome home,” a voice greeted him. 

Draco waits for colors to seep back in, a warmth that’s taking to long to reach him. His hands are still cold and his shoulders remain tense. Nevertheless, he plasters a smile on his face and turns.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the start of a minor downhill slope.

It’s been a couple weeks since Harry started the case and, during those weeks, the toxicology exams just came up clueless as to what the hell this person was even putting in it. The patients with high alihotsy percentages, were given a very light dosage of treacles garnered from glumbumbles. It was by reference from both Luna and Draco. He was really so fucking glad that he had a Potions Master for a...a—-a confidant? 

It felt nice to work with Ron as well, it’s been too long since he had that sort of adrenaline rush along with the very friend he was with during the war. It was both triggering and fun, crazy. Hermione would, of course, pitch in once in a while if she wasn’t too busy with making a law for the rights of werewolves and other magical creatures.

“How’s Pansy?” Harry asked, seemingly regretting his question because somehow it just framed Draco’s eye bags even more.

Draco blinked, frown seemingly impossible to remedy. “She’s with Blaise at the moment but I don’t think boyfriends do the trick when you’re so far into yourself in this vile thing called depression.”

They were currently at the coffee shop, the employees Hermione and Pansy have chosen were god sent because they worked very well as ‘apprentices’. They oddly represented both Draco and Harry, in both attitude and looks. The blond one was called Icarus and the brunet was called Sydney—-Syd for short. They were both muggle-born wizards so they could go around and pass as ‘normal.’

Draco had taken a liking to both. Icarus was sharp and quick-witted, though he seemed rather distant and a bit too high in pride. Sydney balanced him well by being kind and soft hearted, firm with decisions and he loved to joke around. He was very charming to the customers. Yes, this was probably Pansy’s idea for a joke. When Draco and Harry were both working, the two would serve the tables, otherwise, they’d take over Draco and Harry’s work when they were both gone for the day. 

Harry hasn’t been quite attentive with the coffee shop, he actually found that he missed their regular customer, Grace. He was happy to be here today, it felt so familiar and comfortable to stand beside Draco in front of the cashier counter. The smell of coffee and sugar just made everything better. 

Draco got sick just the other day and it seems as though he’s still unwell, skin paler than the usual Malfoy pale. He was so worried, especially since he went home one night at 3AM only to find Draco curled up on the couch in a lot of blankets. His cup of tea had spilled on the table and some papers were scattered and wet. It kind of reminded him of a weird but famous renaissance painting.

“Either way,” Harry said, trying to be careful. “I’d have to thank her.” 

“What’s your bet that they’d end up together?” Draco asked, eyeing Syd as he kept pestering Icarus to give him parts of the newspaper. 

Harry followed his gaze, seeing how Icarus gave Syd the comics section of the newspaper. The blond had huffed but when he raised the newspapers to hide his face, there was a ghost of a smile there. “They will. I’m sure they’ll be faster than us.” 

He heard Draco sigh. “Pansy is scaring me.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s like she’s so far from reach, I feel like she’ll finally slip. I want to help, I really do but—-” Draco look suffocated. Harry wanted to hold him, but didn’t. “—- but I feel like if I reach out she’ll drag me in too.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, trying to find better words. “It’s okay to look after yourself, Draco. You can’t help someone while having issues of your own, it’ll be blind leading the blind. Draco, it’d be unfair to both of you.” 

Draco raked a hand over his face. “Yeah, you’re making sense. You have a point. I don’t want to be like this anymore, Harry.”

Harry pulled on the strands of Draco’s hair lightly. He didn’t know how to touch him, he didn’t know if he could. He pulled away when he saw Draco’s hand twitch. “Draco, I love you so much. I’m here with you until you and I both get better.” 

“Yeah,” Draco nodded, a small smile that made the sides of his eyes crinkle. Harry knew never to trust Draco’s outward appearance until it matched his eyes, Draco could be the best liar but Harry could still read him through his eyes. “Yeah. Thank you.” 

Harry couldn’t comment because Syd was suddenly leaning on the counter, handing Draco a newspaper shaped rose. It was a fragile little thing that must have took a little bit of attention to detail because Harry was sure he’d rip it to shreds if he ever attempted to even do it. The blond blinked at him. “It’s for you.” 

Draco looked just a bit confunded, he hesitantly took the paper rose and blinked at Syd. He was probably trying to search for a hint of a joke in Syd’s face but Syd was pretty open and charming and won everyone over, even Draco. “Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome,” Syd grinned. He looked really pleased with himself as he watched Draco twirl it by it’s stem.

Icarus huffed, leaning on the counter space beside Syd. Harry could see a hint of a pout but did not point it out. “I could have read those.”

“You don’t even like the comics part,” Syd said, shooting him a confused look. “ _I think it’s just a sad extension pack of the newspaper_ , remember?” 

Harry has to take a step back and think about why this shit was all so fucking familiar. Draco seemed to be thinking of the same thing because he turned to stare at him. This was literally a younger version of themselves. Oh god, he thought he was just imagining things at first. “What was the rose for?”

Syd look at him, all shining at bright. “He looked sad.” 

“Thank you, Syd,” Draco said, smiling. 

Icarus snorted. “Nice one, kidney.” 

“It’s Sydney, you oaf,” Syd grunted. “Do you want me to make you a rose too?”

Icarus scowled, pink tinted cheeks, then looked away. “I’m good.” 

“Oh, hey, two tables calling you over,” Harry said. The two younger boys turned and walked (Sydney skipped) towards the customers calling them. He watched Draco fiddle with the rose, a fond smile on his face. “Do I buy you roses as well?” 

“Don’t be daft,” Draco snorted. “It’s like you’re insinuating that you’re jealous of Syd.” 

“He is younger and more fit,” Harry joked. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I expect a ring from you, Potter.” 

“A ring?” Harry choked. 

“Yes, a ring,” Draco said. “Julia Roberts wore this certain ring in—-”

“Of course,” Harry sighed. “ _Of course._ ”

Draco smirked at him. He still looked tired but Harry could see an attempt somewhere in his eyes, a vintage Malfoy full of teasing and jokes was easily surfaced. “My, my, my, did you, perhaps, think of a different kind of ring?” 

Harry reddened. “No.” 

“Think of taking me on a first night as a newlywedded co—-” 

“Harry, the bill for table four,” Syd said.

Harry sighed in relief. “Coming.”

“You will.” 

“ _Draco,_ ” Harry hissed, shakily handing Syd the bill. The younger boy looked at both of them in worry before he walked away. “Don’t look at me like that I do not have commitment issues.”

Draco smirked. “Scared, Potter?”

_With you? No._

* * *

_Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock._

 

Draco felt more and more agitated with each audible tick of the clock. It was almost ridiculous how much a clock could rile him the fuck up. It absolutely did not help that Healer Roberts tapped his fingers as he read his files. God help him. It was 3PM on a Sunday, he should really be at home and continue the sweater that he was knitting. He was almost done, just a few more magical touches and he knew Harry would love it. 

The Healer’s personal office was cozy. Machuca tiles adorned the floor in royal blue and tints of spiralling yellow. The olive green couches placed in front of one another, details imply that they are from the Baroque period. There was a small coffee table sat in front of them that held a notepad and their tea. They sat beside a window that looks out to whatever a patient finds safe, Draco can see the living room to their flat.

He’d normally love going to his sessions but today felt wrong. Things haven’t felt right in a while, but it’s nothing that he couldn’t control. It’s nothing that was too hard to manage. Again, it was just the anniversary effect and he didn’t want it to bother him too much and he surely did not want it to affect Harry as well.

“How’s the knitting?” He asked. He was the one who suggested it anyway. 

“Well.” Draco wanted to go home. 

“Good,” he hummed. “What are you making?” 

“A sweater for Harry,” Draco said, can’t help but smiling a bit. 

Healer Roberts cleared his throat, the way he did whenever something was hard to say. “I’ve noticed quite an attachment to Harry Potter. Do you mind giving me context.” 

“We fought on opposing sides of the war but managed to end up with the same thing, mental issues,” he drawled. Did he need to mention anything about the romantic aspect? “We live together and we work together.” 

“The war,” the healer hummed. “Have you been going through the anniversary effect lately?” 

“I assume,” Draco said. “It’s what you’ve told me. Has there been a change?”

“None, the information you’ve given me of your past few weeks don’t intone any changes of what it could be,” he said. “I’m only worried that Harry Potter might affect you in this process.” 

Draco blinked. “Harry might aff—-excuse me?” 

“Harry Potter is a part of the war and an opposition as well. It means you’ve fought against each other and maybe seeing him will heighten the anniversary effect.” 

“That’s impossible,” Draco argued. “He’s been helping and I—-” _love him?_

Roberts shook his head. “I’m not making any accusations, though I’d like you to bear in mind that you should observe how his presence affects you.” 

Draco felt like he was rolled into a room with bright lights and as if he resurfaced from the bottom of an icy lake. He shakes his head. “He affects me just fine.”

“But if he does affect you negatively affect you,” Roberts said, soft. “I would advise you to put distance.” 

And Draco, for the life of him, could not imagine being away from Harry. “Okay.” 

“How have you been feeling?”

“Very tired, I’ve been doing well and then I suddenly dove down to oblivion,” Draco sighed. “Such a thing should really be illegal.” 

“If only,” the healer replied.

“I wish I could help a friend of mine, her name is Pansy,” Draco said. “She’s been having trouble with her depression. Perhaps, I can lead her to you?” 

“Sadly, I can’t take in acquaintances of my patients,” Roberts frowned. “It’s problematic with confidentiality.”

“I suppose I understand.” 

“Are the potions doing you well?” 

Draco tried to think. “No seemingly big changes, I feel like it’s too weak but, then again, I am stable.” 

“We’ll change the dosage then,” he said. He grabbed his quill and wrote it down, somehow looking disappointed as he did so. Draco couldn’t quite help but feel guilty about not trying hard enough. 

 

_Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock._

* * *

Wednesday morning, bright and early. Harry had had breakfast with Draco before Draco went to Hogwarts and Harry went on with investigating. Draco was ranting about the economy while Harry talked about the policies Hermione was making for magical creatures until Draco really had to go. Ron flooed in as soon as Draco left, bringing in a suitcase that looks like it’s been bitten by something, _don’t ask._

They had been loosely handling this case due to many different reasons, mainly, Kingsley has been assigning Ron to other minor cases or minor stakeouts. They have been low on help for a while, something that happened when Kingsley opened up the corruptions cases and made the Auror training more intense both mentally and physically.

Harry stood in front of the clear board, pictures of the victims and a map stained with markers. He had been glaring at it for the past hour now. He never really knew what everything quite meant which is stupid, he knows. Ron paced around from behind him, feet probably going to leave marks on Harry’s carpet. 

There seems to be nothing connecting the victims together. They can rule out discrimination because it’s all a mix of purebloods and muggleborns. They can rule out sexism because it’s a mixture of witches and wizards. They can even rule out the location because the map is a clusterfuck of locations. Did this person just get a hat, close their eyes, and pick out a random name?

“If we can’t find anything similar,” Harry said. “Then we can assume that he closed his eyes and picked at random.” 

Ron harrumphed. “But they always have a connection. Harry, that’s how this lunatic finds them.” 

“The usage of Alihotsy for hysteria, Lethe for forgetfulness and Wormwood, a hallucinogenic, can cause hysteria.”

**Click!**

_I think whatever he’s trying to make, it’s triggering the victims._

Of course. The things the victims were suffering were not physical, they were all mental torture. These ingredients could have heightened whatever the victims were already feeling or bring them out but it would take much more effort of convincing if these victims had not yet experienced it once or twice before. It would also be weird to suddenly up and drink a potion that they didn’t know would cause some mental changes.

“Wait,” Harry said, grabbing the medical history and shuffling them into coordination. He looks at every victim’s files carefully, eyes widening when he sees what exactly he’s been looking for. _Depression. Bipolar Disorder. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Disassociation. Generalized Anxiety. Psychosis._

“They all have mental illnesses,” Harry said, feeling slightly elated that they’ve finally found something. 

Ron stood beside him, eyes scanning the papers. “How could someone target mentally ill people.” 

“Easier to manipulate?” Harry said, unsure. 

“You’ve mentioned he was making batches,” Ron said, looking back at their board. 

“He’s recently stopped.” Harry nodded. “You think he has a specific target?” 

“Most likely,” Ron said, crossing his arms. “But if he made batches, the effects won’t hit his target all at once. It’s a gradual downhill slope. It’s not only to perfect the potion itself.” 

“Then how in the fuck will we know if it’s potion induced or not?” Harry asked. “He’s mimicking what actually happens with mental illnesses, that’s the real problem here.”

“Potions for mental health are usually sold with prescriptions especially if this is as lethal as it gets,” Ron said.

“But apothecaries won’t sell these things, especially if not even St. Mungos knows what the hell they’ve been taking.” 

“Unless they take a special blend given to them.” 

“One of the victims has already mentioned they went to an apothecary.” 

Ron sighed loudly. “Okay, we’ll track it down then. We’ll see which apothecary they go to. We might find that they all go to the same one.” 

“No need to go back to the victims themselves, at least not yet,” Harry said. “Maybe we can ask people closely related to them. The victims may not even have accurate memories as to what they’ve been doing.” 

“What did you do when you were still in a bad position?” Ron asked. 

Harry knitted his eyebrows together. “I don’t know...cried?” 

Ron snorted. “For fu—- _no_. You and Draco, you both were very specific.” 

“What do you——” He remembered their strict routines, it was their way of building foundations for themselves as well as a way for them to stop wandering aimlessly like brainless ghosts. They would wake up in the morning, Draco would prepare breakfast while Harry got the morning newspaper and read it, sometimes aloud when Draco looked very frustrated. They would go down to the coffee shop, when it didn’t exist they would go to the couch to watch something or read their books. They would play chess. Draco would work on some potions while Harry meditated in his own room. At night, Harry would make dinner for the both of them while Draco read a book or watched Julia Roberts. 

It wasn’t just that as well. Draco had a very specific way of arranging the kitchen cabinets. Harry would count the steps going to the beach. Draco would buy items, picking the fifth one in the row. Harry would want to tap the walls thrice for no reason except self satisfaction. Those were a few among other things. 

At Harry’s ‘o’ face, Ron huffed. “Yes.” 

“So?” 

“Routines like that are hard to break, usually it’s connected to muscle memory and you just float directly towards the task without much of a thought,” Ron said. 

Harry nodded along. “So, now what?” 

Ron shrugged. “I was just thinking that maybe some of the victims are capable of being discharged and maybe we can follow them?” 

“That still runs the risk of being targeted, they need to be under protection since we have no idea whether or not the lunatic will return to them,” Harry explained. “We don’t know if hysteria or loss of motivation is actually the final form of his plan.” 

“What would be the final form?” 

“Well, suicide.” He felt chills run down his spine just at the mere mention of the word. He’d still have casual thoughts of suicide, but there was nothing in him that made him feel like he had to or even wanted to do it. It just scares him how easily he could end it all, how fragile his own life is despite having the title of ‘The Boy Who Lived’. 

“They’re not exactly witnesses of the crime,” Ron said. “It’s not as if they know who exactly we’re dealing with. They can hardly remember what happened the week before they were put in St. Mungos.” 

“Every time I feel like we’ve figured something out, we’re actually going further and further away,” Harry sighed. “Infuriating. We’re arguing with our own points. They can’t forget routine, but they forget weeks of their actual lives. I—- _Ron._ ” 

Ron scratched the back of his head. “Okay. We’ll contact their relatives first and then we’ll see where we can go from there.”

* * *

“That smells amazing,” Harry hummed from the doorway of their shared office. 

Draco looked up from his cauldron to give him a soft smile. He loved to brew potions, it always managed to make him feel better especially this particular potion. He’s been doing this for the past few nights. “It should. I’m making Amortentia.” 

“Who’s the sad sop who’ll have the pleasure of drinking that?” Harry snorted, walking into the room. Draco had the pleasure to note that he was wearing god damn sweatpants that hugged his arse just right. _He’d never fucking admit it._

Draco snorted. “You.” 

“Won’t work,” Harry sang in an annoying voice. “Already in love with you, _lov-er_.” 

Draco didn’t even try to hide his shudder or the fact that he wanted to strangle Harry. “Vile, Potter. You are vile.” 

“It’s late,” Harry said, simple. 

The clock screamed 1:30AM at him. He forgot to drink his potion. “So it is.”

“Yeah.” 

“You’re up.” 

“I made fried pickles.” 

“Are you pregnant?” 

“They’re _good_.” 

“What do you smell?” 

Harry neared the cauldron, a smile on his face whilst eyes fluttered shut. “I smell Treacle Tart, laundry soap, lemons, herbs, and chocolate.” 

Draco coughed, tinted cheeks. “That’s good then.”

Harry smiled at him, knowing. “You?” 

“Chocolates, rain, Treacle Tart, and—-and...” 

“ _And?_ ” 

“Apples,” Draco scowled, fully knowing that Harry’s shampoo smelled of apples. 

“Wow,” Harry said. “Amazing.” 

“Oh my god,” Draco groaned. “Shut up.” 

Harry grinned. “Do you want to eat some fried pickles with me?”

Draco stomach lurched in protest. “I’ll just watch you.”

“Tell me about your day.” 

“T’was good,” Draco huffed. “I don’t really feel like talking about it. How was yours?” 

Harry waited patiently for Draco to put away his equipment. “Icarus and Syd seemed to have argued.” 

Draco looked up. “Oh?” 

“Someone gave their number to Icarus and Syd’s being weird,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“If he’s anything like you he’ll be oblivious to his own feelings,” Draco drawled. “I’m done here, let’s go?” 

Harry nodded, a mischievous smile on his face. “Let’s.” 

Draco followed Harry with a question on the tip of his tongue but it died out when he saw blankets on the floor and some wine with—- _is that blue cheese?_ Draco tore his gaze from there to Harry’s smug specky face. “What.” 

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” Harry shrugged, leading Draco towards the mess of blankets. They sat on it quite ungracefully as well. 

Draco cocked a brow. “What’s in it for you?” 

“Wine,” Harry said. “And finally spending time with you without it having to be a work day or something about potions.” 

“Awfully sweet of you,” Draco said. 

“I know,” Harry said, pouring some wine in Draco’s glass before his own. He raised his glass. “To not breaking down?”

Draco snorted, raising his own glass. “To not breaking down.”

“How are your students?” Harry asked. 

Draco was smiling at the cheese, it took him a moment to reply. “Excuse me?” 

Harry snorted, pushing the cheese tray towards him. “Typical. How are your students?”

“They’re well,” Draco replied. “My best student reminds me of Granger, it’s actually frightening.” 

“She’s not Hermione until she cries in the washroom and gets attacked by a troll,” Harry said. 

“Truly,” Draco said. “And how is the case going along.”

Harry sighed, eyebrows knitting togethers. “It could be better.” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Every time Ron and I link things together, there’s a feasible argument against it.” Harry let his head rest on the couch, exposing the column of his throat. Internally, Draco tries to swallow down a gasp. “It’s ridiculous. I just want to solve this and possibly find an antidote.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“You’ve enough on your plate already.” 

Draco felt a surge of annoyance, internally, he’s wondering where it had came from. “Are you implying I can’t help you?” 

Harry looked up, looking dazed. “What? No. I’m just saying you’re busy.” 

“And who are you to decide if I’m too busy or not.”

The curly haired man sat there, blinking. He seemed to be soaking it all in. “Okay. Draco, can you help me with this case?” 

The blond man had the audacity to narrow his eyes and click his tongue. He didn’t want to admit that he was, indeed, very busy. “I’ll check my schedule.” 

“Will I ever win,” he groaned.

They fall into a familiar conversation of nothing and everything, just like what happened on the first ever night they moved in. The flat was still empty and everything was still creaking, Harry had transfigured his socks into two bean bags and made Draco sit despite his half-hearted complaints on how stinky it must be. It was the first time Harry drank expensive wine and it was the first time Draco drank wine from a coffee mug.

Moving in was planned but, at the same time, very hasty. They had taken things without attachments and steadily moved them in this flat. They have disagreed on a lot of places but the salty wind his Draco’s hair. It was here. They moved in with Harry’s muggle appliances, and Draco’s extensive book collection. Draco had almost believed that they wouldn’t work purely because of how much glass they walked on, but once Draco learned how to deal with Harry and vice versa, it was smooth and steady.

They fought, but not intensely. Harry had the patience of a god and Draco had the temper of one. Usually, Harry would ask what was wrong until Draco broke and finally told him what exactly it was. Harry never told him that he was ridiculous or petty, he only told him that they would face it together and solve it. When Harry got mad Draco would not talk to him because that’s what the other man preferred, he, instead, makes marmalade on toast and put some cheese on top. 

It was somewhat strange to look at your ex-rival in the face and suddenly feel this overwhelming sense of comfort because you both know each other so well and you managed to even like the same things. Draco liked watching Wheel of Fortune with Harry, who knew? _It’s Mount Rushmore!_

The clock screamed 3AM when Draco felt like Harry had drank enough. He grabs the bottle of wine from Harry’s hand. “No more, Potter. You’re going to regret this.”

“First of all,” he slurred. “I regret a lot of things.” 

“No,” Draco said, eyes narrowing. He held the bottle far away from Harry when the other man made a move to reach for it. “You’re bloody persistent.” 

Harry stuck his tongue out in intense focus. “Bloody hell.” 

Draco could not help but falter a bit, noticing the light hazel specs that danced around Harry’s eyes, It looked rather beautiful and it reminded him of the gardens he once roamed as a child—-

Harry, in drunken state, accidentally squeezes Draco’s upper thigh, an area near his crotch, with one hand and then harshly tugged at Draco’s wrist with other.

Draco gasps.

 _No!_ He pulls away desperately, hands flying to his head trying to contain it. It was happening too fast. It didn’t even matter. It was too small of an action, and—-and _yet_. He feels so _so_ dirty, hands crawling up his body and pinning him down. He can’t breathe and he can’t see but he can hear laughter. He can feel the breath by his ear. He tries so desperately to go upward, but, in a bruising hold, is pulled down. _No no no no._ Tainted. Unclean. Touched. Unwanted. 

It’s cold and his mind decides to take flight. There is a familiar spiral in his chest as he tries not to vomit. He feels like he can’t quite breathe, can’t quite connect to his senses. It’s almost really stupid how he’s always readied for the next panic but he’s never actually ready when it comes. It’s always worse than the one prior. He can never win with this. 

 

The world is dark as he remembered the age old dialogue. 

_Are you going to be good for me?_

“I’ll be good.”

_It’s you or her._

“Me. Choose me.” 

_Be quiet, pet. We’re going to have fun._

 

“DRACO.” 

 

Draco’s head shoots up, meeting hazel specs. If he could ever describe the feeling, it’s like his mind went sky diving without him, as his mind goes back down, his senses slowly go back to him and he feels like he’s finally collecting thoughts that were jumbled and knocked out of their proper containers.

He feels tight, hands on his arms. He pushes Harry away. “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

Harry’s hands are up in the air, an attempt to show him that he will do as Draco wishes. “I’m sorry.” 

Draco tries to look at Harry’s face, hears laughter and feels violation. “No, I—-I can’t be with you right now.” 

Harry moves back, so far away. “Alright.” 

Draco stares at him, waiting to see if he’ll say something or make a move. He’s only shaking and he’s still quite drunk but now he’s awake and alert. It was his Auror skills. Draco releases a shaky breath before running into his room and locking it for the first time since they’ve moved in together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comment any suggestions if you'd like! I appreciate you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals was shit. Anyway, here's a chapter I managed to write. I was writing it bit by bit during my all nighters.

For one week, Harry moved around the house as if it would break and as if he was escaping from something. He’d wake up at the ass crack of dawn to get himself dressed and left before Draco could even see him and then he’d go home the moment he knew Draco was in his bed. It wasn’t hard, Draco was very predictable and liked to sleep at 9PM. He thought this would go on forever but, by the end of the week, Draco had already slept with his door open again. It was small, but Harry could read it.

He didn’t know how to go about it so he unconsciously kept up with his routine until he steps out of the shower one morning with the smell of bacon hitting him square on the face. It was awkward, he only had a towel around his waist as he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot in the narrow hallway. He could just apparate to his room, right?

No, this is ridiculous. He lived here too.

Harry held his breath as he made his footsteps more pronounced, until he finally made it into the light of the rest of the flat. He saw Draco standing in front of the stove, flipping bacon as the water boiled in the kettle. Their mugs were side by side. “I was wondering when you’d decide to show up.” 

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. “Hi.”

Draco’s face seemed to be pinched. “ _Hi_? You disappear on me for days and all you manage is a bloody ‘hi’?”

“I was still around you know,” Harry said, weakly defending himself. 

“Barely,” Draco grunted. “I couldn’t catch you at breakfast and I couldn’t stay awake to wait.”

Harry noted the bags under his eyes. “Did you sleep last night?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” the blond man replied, placing the cooked bacon on a plate. 

Harry chewed on his lip. Who the fuck needed a mom to get mad at them when here stood Draco with a fucking striped apron and the expression of frustration and disappointment. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why’d you do it?” Draco asked. 

“I didn’t mean to touch—-”

“ _No,_ ” Draco said. “I mean, why did you avoid me?” 

“I didn’t want to trigger you.” When he said that, Draco looked as if he’d been slapped by something. He watched him quickly school his features back to composed neutrality. Harry bites his tongue to keep himself from asking. 

Draco poured the hot water in both of their mugs, flicked his wand so he could magically make tea before he brought the plates of bacon and eggs to the kitchen table. Harry went near him to help but retracted when Draco jumped, he must have looked really pained for Draco to look at him with guilt. “It’s not you.”

Harry gave him a rueful smile. “Except that it is.” 

Draco shook his head. “It’s not.”

“Draco, you can’t even look at me.” 

“I’ve already told you that it’s not you,” Draco snapped. He still wasn’t looking at Harry. “Why do you keep acting as if you know me better than I do?” 

“This is why I did what I did,” Harry sighed. “I didn’t want to argue.” 

“So that’s what you do?” Draco said, crossing his arms to shut himself away. “You run away?” 

“I’m living in Brighton far away from the Wizarding Society,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I’d say it works pretty well.” 

Draco opened his mouth to say something that would have probably stung but kept his mouth shut and turned away to get the mugs of tea. “Let’s drop it. It’s too early.” 

It took all of Harry’s energy to push back the urge in him to debate and fight. He sat down their dining table, shooting Draco a tight little smile. “Thanks for making breakfast.” 

“Where did you eat breakfast when you were going away,” Draco asked, pulling the chair back to sit. He cradled his steaming hot mug with his hands. 

“You’re going to burn yourself,” Harry said automatically, catching Draco look down at his hands and then smirk. “I usually worked without it.” 

Draco frowned at this. “Harry.” 

“I know” the brunet replied. “It’s fine.” 

They ate in stiff silence, somehow there was this weird bubble around them waiting to burst. It’s almost as if both of them wanted to say something but they just couldn’t do it. Harry couldn’t help but seethe for no reason but still check to see if Draco was eating his food; he wasn’t. The blond pushed his plate towards Harry, looking positively green in the face, He said something about morning sickness before resigning himself to just slowly drinking his tea. 

Nothing was different, but everything felt wrong.

* * *

Do you know that irritating feeling of having to seethe while you’re in the middle of what’s making you angry? Or, perhaps, you might know the itchy gnawing feeling of having noises surround when all you want is quiet salvation. 

Draco wanted to be left alone, that was all but it proved to be hard when you were in the service industry. He was eternally grateful for Icarus and Syd who knew how to take the hint and leave him alone, only going to him if there was something needed like the bill or another extra order. It seems the world was less merciful, giving him customers that wanted to talk about anything and everything. At one point, he rolled down his sleeves and went to the backroom to get away from it.

For the whole day, he was internally screaming. 

He decided to go out for a walk in the beach when they’ve finally closed the coffee shop. He felt a little happy when he saw Icarus waiting for Syd before they disapparated together. They mentioned about having plans to pick up some books. 

Draco leaned against the railing, closing his eyes as the wind blew on his face. It was a quiet sort of noise, to only be bombarded by the sound of wind. He felt so at peace here, he wondered if he’d ever grow tired of it. This visit to the beach only helped a little bit, he still felt irritable.

He dreaded going back to his flat, he knew Harry would talk to him or hold him. He didn’t want that, he wanted to be left alone. Seriously. Harry would never truly understand him and he had to accept that sometimes he’d have to rely on himself.

Nevertheless, he went home. 

It was just about the last straw when the universe decided they wanted Draco to face Harry right after he stepped foot onto the floorboards of their flat. Harry was sat on the sofa, putting papers under his scrutiny. Draco clenched his fists and waited for Harry say something that would send him off the edge, everything in him wanted to fight and debate. He wanted to verbally hurt, feels like it’s the only way to ease the pent up stress. 

But, Harry only looked up and smiled before his attention returned to his papers. Draco didn’t quite know where to put up his charged frustration, it seemed to frizzle with a high. “Fight me.”

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Fight with me,” Draco said through gritted teeth. 

“What’s wrong, Draco?” Harry asked, voice tinted with concern. 

Draco scowled. “You’re just being an utter specky prat.” 

“I’m not falling for that,” Harry said. Draco could see no signs of any negative reaction, there was just worry and patience. It made his blood boil. 

“Falling for what? Draco snorted. 

“I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work,” Harry replied. “Just tell me what’s wrong and we can fix it together.” 

“I simply asked you to do one thing,” the blond snapped, resembling a vintage Draco. “And you can’t even do that.” 

“Dra—-”

“Fight me and tear me down,” Draco growled. “It’s what you’re fucking good at.” 

He did not know why he was doing this but his pent up anger and frustration had been boiling inside him the whole day and there was no form of release. He wanted to fight, to shout, and possibly even cry. He just wanted to do something irrational. God. Fuck. He wanted to punch something.

Harry sighed and Draco, for a bit, felt triumphant. “I’ll be in our office. I’m sorry but I don’t think I can be with you right now.” 

It was not what he expected.

Draco searched his face and all he could see was how tired Harry was, eye bags that grew dark as the time passed, it was an immediate punch to the gut. He felt guilty; guilt grew once he remembered that Harry only worked on the couch if he wanted to spend some time with Draco at the same time. He once called it ‘hitting two birds with one stone’. An apology was about to slip but Harry had already walked past him and into their office. 

The sound of the door closed shut echoed.

* * *

“What the fuck do you mean South Korea?” Harry groaned. 

“Listen,” Ron said. “Ms. Kim has been a resident here but she keeps going back to South Korea for her medicine and her close relatives also stay there.”

“Has she not dated anyone here?” Harry asked. “I mean, come on, you can’t always schedule a portkey to go to Asia.”

“Even if she did have someone here, her receipts don’t all go back to apothecaries here,” Ron said. “She’s very bloody careful.” 

Harry rubbed his face. “Well, if we’re there for long Draco might get a chance to breathe for a bit.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Ron chuckled.

“You’ve no idea,” Harry sighed. “He’s so unhappy with me.”

“Maybe this’ll clear your head as well, yeah?” Ron offered him a gentle smile. “It can’t be good for you to always be around each other.”

“True,” Harry said. “But it’s never failed before.”

Ron shrugged. “You’d be daft to think that romantic relationships or the presence of someone else will heal you or him. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m quite aware,” he huffed. “It has to come from the person themselves, working to better themselves. I—-whatever—-South Korea?”

“I’ve already set up the portkey,” Ron nodded. “We have to got Payne’s home and talk to his parents.”

“Payne?”

“William Payne. He’s the youngest patient.”

“How old is he? 20.” 

“Alright. What are the coordinates?” 

He felt the familiar pull as he apparated to the Payne residences. It seemed like such a safe neighborhood, houses surrounded by white picket fences. It seemed like the wet dream of a cookie cutter perfectionist. This didn’t seem like a place wherein someone depressed would live in but then again mental illnesses did not have a ‘look’. It was a common misconception. When he met his first therapist, they said that he didn’t look depressed, it was probably the main reason as to why he didn’t want to see a therapist after that. 

He held his wand up to prevent the rain from hitting his skin, an umbrella-like charm. The cold air softly bit on his cheeks as if to remind him he was loved but not enough to make him feel anything good. 

A few years back, he would have been dreaming about living in this kind of neighborhood. A wife and three kinds with the smell of coffee in the morning. He’d wake up in ungodly hours because he was in charge of checking on the baby this time and then he’d come home to a nice home made dinner. He still wanted it but such a perfect thing unsettled him, he could live without the white picket fence.

Ron appeared beside him, a resounding pop echoing throughout the quiet neighborhood. His nose scrunched up in distaste, he had a strange dislike for things that were ‘arranged’ or things that were too organized. It was such a huge contrast to his actual lifestyle that he had grown accustomed to. If something was too clean or organized, he’d have a strange urge to disrupt it. It would sometimes drive Hermione mad but she learned to handle it in her own way. As she put it, disorganization can be organized: an organized mess. 

Harry nodded towards the white door while Ron nodded back, taking the lead for the both of them. Harry was comfortable with Ron taking the lead as he was better with strategy and playing safe while Harry would just dive in head first and without caution. It would get him in so much trouble so he willingly lets Ron take the lead and, besides, it was much better for his mental stability. 

Ron knocked on the door normally and Harry itched to knock on it the way he would usually knock on a door. They heard muffled sounds coming from the other side, seconds later before the door opened. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Payne.” 

Mrs. Payne smiled, somehow emphasizing the bags under her eyes. She was far more affected by the situation than she was willing to let on. “Do come in.” 

When Harry stepped in the house, it was very picture perfect. He could almost feel Ron’s urge to make a mess of things. Nevertheless, it was cozy and warm. “Sorry to intrude, Mrs. Payne.” 

“Anything for the imprisonment of that lunatic, dear,” Mrs. Payne chirped. It gave Harry chills that she could be so happy when saying that. Mrs. Payne urged them to sit on the couch as she sat directly in front of them. She offered tea but Harry had a stupidly small bladder and Ron didn’t like the flowery teas that she had offered. Harry was starting to drone out the initial welcoming talk Ron would always do to make the questioned a bit more relaxed before Ron nudges him to pick up where he left off.

Harry leaned forward. “Alright. This’ll be quick.”

She only nodded.

“Were you aware of William’s depression and social anxiety?” 

“He’s only told me five months ago,” she spoked. “At the time, he’s known for almost two years.” 

“Have you noticed anything wrong with him before he was admitted to St. Mungos?” 

She blinked. “I sort of figured it was nothing major at the time since I have little to no knowledge of his mental illness but he became more erratic. He was harder to talk to. It was still the same condition but somehow...worse.” 

Harry caught sight of Ron’s ‘ _this again_ ’ face and tried to ignore it. “We’ve seemed to narrow it down to a potion or some sort of medication he took, a slow acting one supposedly. Do you know where he may get his supply of medication? Which apothecaries?” 

“He has social anxiety so it’s hard for him to jump from apothecary to apothecary or to even change his doctors. His routine must remain unchanged or else it heightens his stress,” she said, deep in thought. “He only goes to that one apothecary down the street. It’s called Apollo’s Corner.” 

“Is there any other place, Mrs. Payne?” Harry asked. “It’s important that we know everything.” 

She frowned and shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing else I could think of. He’s very limited in what he does and to even break routine is already hell for him.” 

“Alright,” Harry sighed, giving Ron a nod. “We have what we need. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Payne.”

When they finished with their exchanged pleasantries, Ron and Harry went back out into their wind bitten condition. It wasn’t much information but it was enough, enough for things to start making sense. Harry still had much pressing issues to deal with...going home. 

Ron and Harry had apparated separately, agreeing to meet each other in two hours before heading to South Korea. He took a deep breath, calming himself. It was only Draco and today might be a different day. 

He spotted the blond sat in his spot in the sofa, a book in hand. This seemed peaceful enough, Harry couldn’t feel any rough energy or tension. “I’m home.” 

Draco didn’t look. “You are.” 

Or maybe there _was_ some tension. “Not for long.” 

“Late night?” Draco asked, turning a page. “Is it close to being cracked?” 

“Sort of,” Harry said, biting his lip in. “I’m going to South Korea.”

Draco snapped his book shut and turned around to stare. “Potter.” 

“It was spur of the moment,” Harry huffed. “All Ron’s idea.” 

“I’m sure,” Draco snorted. 

“What are you so uptight about?” Harry asked. “You’re usually okay with this.”

“Yes I’m okay when you tell me you’re going somewhere and it’s usually because it’s places like Central London or Bath or France,” Draco said, standing up to face him. “ _Not_ on the other side of the world.” 

“Technically—-” He shuts his mouth at Draco’s competitive stare. “Look, I’m sorry, but one of the victims goes there for their medication. We have to check it.” 

Draco tapped his foot impatient. “You’re going to find nothing.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Harry said, slowly losing patience. 

“I just am.”

Harry sighed. “Sometimes I think you just fight with me for the sheer pleasure of it. Draco, I’m getting tired of this.” 

“I’m sorry you’re having a rough time,” Draco said, turning away and making his way to the kitchen. 

Harry followed. “Look I’m sorry.” 

“I just need some tea,” Draco said, a bit hollow. His shaky hands were already reaching for a mug. 

“But I feel like you shouldn’t be taking out your anger on me all the time.” 

“I just need some tea,” he repeated. 

“Is there anything I did wrong, Draco?” 

“Please, I just need some tea.” 

“Draco, you’re being so bloody difficult.” Harry grabbed his arm, Draco immediately pulling back so harshly that he let go of the mug and it crashed in between them. Harry stared, guilt bubbling inside him but he can’t quite feel like he did anything wrong. “I’m sorry I...”

Draco crouched down, gaze distracted. “You know what, Harry, I think you should just go.” 

“Draco.” 

“I’m sure you’ve been having a hard time,” he said, his voice sounded like an echo. “Just go.” 

Harry repaired the mug wordlessly before crouching down in front of Draco. He didn’t dare touch him, instead, he looked. “Draco.” 

Draco looked up. “I’ll be fine. I guess I just need to be alone.”

“I don’t want to leave knowing that we’re not okay,” Harry said. 

“It’s not you,” Draco sighed. “You can’t force these things to be okay just because we feel things for each other.” 

“I’d like to think that love conquers all,” Harry huffed. 

“Too bad, scarhead,” Draco said, showing a ghost of a smirk. “I’ve not been myself and you’re very stressed with work, just give it time...just give it time. We’ll be okay, like always.” 

“Like always,” Harry said, willing himself to feel better. Draco takes Harry’s hand and places it on his cheek, turning slightly to kiss his palm. Harry smiled.

It took them a few minutes to rise from the kitchen floor, almost pathetic. Harry went into his room to pack some things such as emergency medication and his spare glasses, Draco helped him by putting everything he needed in the small pouch; it was charmed to contain more than you’d expect. 

It wasn’t like Harry was going away for long but he didn’t want to suddenly have a panic attack and go on with life without medication in a new country. Ron would probably do the same thing except that maybe he brought his chessboard with him. 

“I guess you have everything you need,” Draco said, staring. 

Harry smiled a bit. “I’m only gone for a few hours, a day if it’s too intense.” 

Draco only rolled his eyes. “Bring home some tea and face masks.” 

“Anything you want, baby cakes,” Harry grinned.

The blond groaned. “Vile.” 

“I’ll be leaving now.” Except he didn’t. He still stared at Draco. 

Draco stared back. “Be safe. We’ll be fine.”

* * *

The moonlight made her nightgown glow, flowing as soft footsteps were making its way to the room at the end of the hallway. Dark skin and soft snores were left on her bed, she was careful not to disturb him. It was not her intention but somehow that is all she is capable of. She hesitates in front of the mirror, she realizes that her own image on glass does no justice of how she truly feels, she turns away.

What...now. 

Vials glared at her and she smiled back, fingers carefully plucking them out of their place. She feels how smooth it flows down her throat, careful and softer than any alcohol she has taken.

She finally feels the light touch of sleep.

She knows she won’t wake up.

She is fine with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's safe to assume that, since I took a break for school, I kind of lost track on what I wanted to do with this fic. Damn it.


End file.
